


What Fresh Hell is This

by Just_the_Messenger



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Adult Content, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Blood and Gore, Business, Explicit Language, F/M, Graphic Description of Corpses, Heaven & Hell, Humor, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Nephilim, Office, Other, Referenced and threatened violence/torture, Sarcasm, Sexual Harassment, Sexual Tension, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27487312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_the_Messenger/pseuds/Just_the_Messenger
Summary: Meet Hecate (HECK-ah-tee), Lucifer's executive and personal assistant for the last 2,000 or so years. The only thing she despises more than her incompetent co-workers is the mere thought of Heaven winning Armageddon and her subsequent unemployment. So, everyday Hecate uses her unique powers, high intellect and deadly sarcasm to keep Hell afloat (as it were), all while violently discouraging the affections of countless demons, evil dignitaries and one very smitten archangel. Starts in 1973, continues post-Apocalmost
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	1. Preface

Hi peeps! I'm taking a break from "Ineffable" to bring Hecate to life in this more humorous, sarcastic and light-hearted fic. First chapter takes place during the meeting in which Crowley explains his M25 plan and Hastur asks, "What's a computer?" 

See ya!


	2. Computers and Other Workplace Hazards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 1973. Hecate reluctantly leaves Pandemonium for Minauros to hear Crowley's presentation about the M25. Hastur asks what a computer is. Hecate discovers she must remain in swampy Minauros indefinitely instead of returning home to help her boss win an impromptu battle. 
> 
> Life is not good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I only own Good Omens, nor any of its fabulous one-liners. I merely own Hecate and a few minor characters.
> 
> Also: for the first part of the M25 presentation, I copied and pasted the dialogue from a free sample of "The Quite Nice and Fairly Accurate Good Omens Script Book," which I downloaded on Kindle. I added some descriptive stuff, but Crowley's dialogue and other stuff was written by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, NOT me. 
> 
> Ok, enjoy!!

Hecate sighed. She often sighed. It was her way of releasing the pressure steadily building up inside her so that she didn’t explode in a volcanic eruption of frustration, exasperation and hatred all over the pristine offices of Pandemonium. Or its inhabitants, though she cared little for them, save her direct supervisor. In fact, if there was a way to spew her toxic metaphorical lava all over those fat cats, with their cheap suits, condescending grins and empty heads, without disturbing the overall serenity of Hell’s corporate headquarters, Hecate would have done so long ago. 

But, alas. We can’t have everything we want. 

Hecate adjusted her obsidian suit and checked her watch. If the bloody train didn’t speed up, she’d be late to the meeting. Which would be fantastic, if not for who she was representing. Who she always represented. 

“Oh, fuck this,” she muttered, standing up and grabbing her briefcase. A few vaguely humanoid creatures looked up at the pale female as she snapped her fingers and disappeared from the compartment. Unfazed, they returned to their Infernal Times, harlequin romances and instruction manuals on basic torturing techniques. 

6666666666666666666666666666666666666666666

“Fuck,” hissed Hastur violently under his breath, staring anxiously at the large clock above payroll and fidgeting with his unlit cigar. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

“He here yet?” asked a deep voice behind him. Hastur scowled and without turning around replied in a slick, poisonous tone, “What do you think, you idiot? Would I be standing here, muttering obscenities to myself like a transient if the bastard had graced us with his presence yet?” 

“What do we do if he don’t show up?” Ligur continued, unperturbed by his business partner’s hostility. “She won’t be too happy bout tha’—”

Hastur whipped around, grabbed Ligur by the shirt collar and lifted him off the moldy ground. He glared into his partner’s lizard-like eyes, pupils contracted with fear, with his own blotchy black toad-esque ones. “If you say one more word about that pathetic excuse for a demon, I’ll rip out your livers and feed them to the Hellhounds!” he hissed in a dangerously low voice. Releasing Ligur roughly, Hastur turned and resumed staring at the large, dilapidated timepiece, his onyx orbs shining with terror, panic and desperation. 

“Alright, alright, I’m here, lay off!” Hastur exhaled and relaxed his tense shoulders in relief upon hearing the one sound he hated more than anything, even children’s laughter. Turning around, he saw none other than Crowley, nee Crawly, sauntering into the office like he owned the place, with his ridiculous clothing, shaggy hair and sunglasses. 

“Where have you been?” hissed Hastur, glaring daggers at his devilishly handsome associate. “It is nearly a quarter past, do you think she won’t flay us all for your incompetence?!”

Crowley groaned as he removed his sunglasses, revealing yellow snake eyes currently rolling to the ceiling in annoyance. “Oh come of it, the meeting doesn’t start till 2:30 anyway! I’m 19 minutes early! What’s gotten into you lot today?” 

There was a very awkward pause as Hastur glowered at his subordinate, picturing his head imploding like a tin can under intense water pressure. 

“Um, begging your pardon, Your Disgrace, but does he not know?” interjected a particularly daft imp near Crowley’s right elbow, gesturing at him with his thumb and looking to Hastur for confirmation. 

Hastur’s slimy black eyes slid onto the imp. “Oh, he knows, Vlodscrab” he replied, rage simmering under forced calm. “He just doesn’t give a Hallelujah, the flash bastard.” 

“I do too!” argued Crowley, hands on his hips defiantly. “You think I haven’t been preparing for this for years?! Satan’s sake Hastur, just because I’m not a kiss-ass like you—”

“You insufferable ingrate! Do you forget whom you’re addressing?!” yelled Hastur, his pasty face turning purple.

Crowley smiled wryly. “Oh, if only,” he replied in a forced nasally voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“Why, you--!”

“Alright, alright, that’s enough for one day, gentlemen,” interrupted an authoritative female voice. “Let’s leave the fighting to the humans, shall we?” 

Hastur, who had lunged toward Crowley with the intention of breaking his scrawny neck, immediately released the lower demon and straightened up, breathing heavily and readjusting his tie. Crowley shot him a glare before fiddling with his portfolio and staring rather ashamed at the floor. Both demons looked extremely uncomfortable, as though caught singing along to The Sound of Music together. 

“I do apologize, Your Lowness,” began Hastur in a rather shaky voice, his eyes daring to glance up at the being in front of them. “You see, Crawly was nearly late, and as it’s him giving the presentation—’

“’Nearly late?’” repeated his subordinate in exasperation. “I was nearly 20 minutes early, you mother—”

“Shut it!” hissed Hastur, glancing nervously at the being. “How dare you speak with such vulgarity in the presence of—”

“Alright,” repeated Hecate firmly, holding up a white hand neatly manicured with long red nails. “Let’s just move on. Crowley obviously was not late, nor is there any reason for two of Hell’s finest demons—”

“Why, thank you, Your Disgrace,” simpered Hastur, smiling horribly and bowing slightly. Crowley rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“—to behave like two squabbling chickens fighting over the same kerbal of corn," continued Hecate, her expression annoyed but unsurprised. Hastur’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of confusion and revulsion upon hearing her comparison. Crowley smirked in satisfaction, but kept his tanned face low and slightly in the shadows.

“Master Crowley, are you prepared to present your idea to us?” Crowley jumped and flinched slightly, his grin replaced by a pale, panicked expression. 

“Um, yes, of course, Your Awfulness,” he replied awkwardly with a low bow, still unsure exactly how to address her after nearly 2,000 years. “T-thank you again for affording me the opportunity—”

“Don’t thank me,” interrupted Hecate briskly but not sharply. “The Dark Lord simply heard tell of your plan and wanted me to investigate. And as I’ve told you all many times,” she continued emphatically in a louder voice, addressing everyone in the room, “I am not a Disgrace, nor a Lowness, nor an Awfulness. I am simply Sir, or Hecate, or on extremely rare occasions, High Priestess. So, unless we’re in the presence of foreign dignitaries—who will never come to Minauros anyway—” she added in an undertone “--just, please, for once in 1,935 years, just call me Sir.” 

There was another very thick, awkward pause, during which Hastur restrained himself from groveling for mercy at her feet, something she’d also requested they not do. 

“Um,” said Vlodscrab, raising his hand which only came up to Crowley’s shoulder. “But aren’t you actually—”

“Let me be perfectly clear,” said Hecate in a loud, commanding voice, glaring daggers at the occult staff encircled around her. “If anyone calls me anything BUT Sir again, I will feed their livers to the Hellhounds.” She gestured at herself and glanced at Hastur, who gulped audibly. “Is that clear enough for you lot?” 

The various demons, imps and trolls in the crowd murmured their assent, avoiding her intense gaze. 

“Good,” she said in a quieter, calmer tone, straightening her jacket and smoothing her thick black hair back into a perfect bun. “Let’s get started then, shall we?” 

“Of course, Your Dis—” began Hastur, stopping when Hecate’s emerald eyes flashed warningly and everyone gasped lightly. “—Sir,” he finished, clenching his abdominal muscles as though hoping to hide at least three of his livers from her long, sharp nails. 

Hecate rolled her eyes and walked left down a dark corridor, long black heels clicking rhythmically on the concrete. 

“Well, that went well,” said Crowley to Hastur light-heartedly, smiling brightly. His superior seethed at him for a few seconds, then turned on his heel and barked at the muttering crowd to follow him. 

Crowley rolled his eyes, replaced his sunglasses over them and sauntered down the long, dark hallway toward the conference room. 

66666666666666666666666666666666

“So,” continued Crowley, standing at the front of the dark conference room next to a large projector, “thanks to three computer hacks, selective bribery, and me moving some markers across a field one night—" (at this, Hastur scoffed and Lord Beezlebub raised an eyebrow)—“the M25 London Orbital Motorway, which was meant to look like this--” he pointed to a large image on the flat white screen-- “will, when it opens in 1986, actually look like this, and represent—” the bell-bottom and fringe-clad demon flipped a translucent plastic sheet over the image of the M25 Motorway with a large ameba-like shape that only slightly altered the motorway’s original design, “the dread sigil Odegra in the language of the Dark Priesthood of Ancient Mu. Odegra means ‘Hail the Great Beast, Devourer of Worlds!’” Crowley smirked proudly at his less than captivated audience. “Can I hear a wahoo?” 

“Hail the Great Beast, Devourer of Worlds,” recited everyone monotonously. Crowley rolled his eyes, fortunately concealed beneath his black frames, and continued less enthusiastically, “Once it’s built, the millions of motorists grumbling their way around it are going to be like water on a prayer wheel.” 

At this, Hecate, who had been watching the demon's rather showy presentation with partly closed eyes and yawns snuck politely behind an elegant pale hand, raised her thin black eyebrows and sat up straighter. Crowley noticed, and plunged ahead with more gusto. “They’ll grind out an endless fog of low-grade evil that will encircle the whole of London,” he explained triumphantly, glancing at Hecate in hopes that she was impressed. 

She was, which she exhibited by jotting a few notes down on her pad and not yawning. Quite flattered by this uncharacteristic display of emotion, Crowley grinned broadly, crossed his arms and gazed out at his other adoring fans with delusional pride. 

That is, until he noticed that one such fan was raising his hand in a rather priggish manner.

Internally groaning, Crowley forced a polite look on his now rather irritated visage and asked as nonchalantly as he could, “Yes, Duke Hastur?” 

Hastur, who was slouching in the front row with his hand held aloft for the last two or three minutes, lowered it and drawled, “What’s a computer?” 

Crowley closed his eyes. He was going to kill him. That’s all there was to it. Lowly Master Crowley was going to permanently destroy His Disgrace Duke Hastur if it was the last thing he did. Which it would be, he admitted to himself, but it would be oh, so worth it, just to see the look on his pasty smug face right before he removed it from the rest of his corporation. 

While Crowley plotted Hastur’s demise and the rest of the crowd began to also wonder what a computer was, Hecate stared at the back of the duke's head like he had just renounced Satan and pledged his heart to Jesus Christ. 

“Um,” she began after a bit, her sparkling green eyes wide and flawless alabaster brow furrowed in confusion, “Duke Hastur?” 

Hastur, who had been sneering at Crowley’s dumbfounded posture, obediently turned to the back row. “Yes, Your—Sir?”  
Hecate's beautiful features cringed sympathetically, yet also with a hint of revulsion, as though addressing a disemboweled fawn. “Di-did you just ask what a computer is?” she stammered softly, now looking rather embarrassed. 

Hastur frowned in alarm and glanced at Crowley, who was grinning like the Grinch after having received his “wonderful, awful idea.” 

“Well, yes, but—" began the duke, desperately trying to figure out what the hell was going on. 

“My apologies, Sir,” interrupted Crowley, still smirking with triumphant satisfaction as he addressed Hecate. “I’m afraid the duke doesn’t get out much, you see. Spends most of his time in Minauros, doesn’t really understand what’s going on up there, if you know what I mean.” The demon pointed and looked up, then sighed in false sympathy at his ignorant brethren. 

It was now Hastur’s turn to close his eyes and imagine Crowley’s bloody, violent and terribly drawn out discorporation (most of the scenarios involved a blunt, rusty spoon; electric knives; and those new carnivorous sheep they’d just created down in Dis). 

Hecate, unaware of the duke’s murderous fantasies, blinked and frowned at Crowley. “Are you telling me that, after all this time, you haven’t explained to your fellow Hellions the nature of the single greatest invention of the century, if not the millennium?” she asked, raising an elegantly manicured eyebrow. 

Crowley gulped. “Um, well, you see—” he stammered, trying to ignore the evil smile now dominating Hastur’s weathered visage. “I’ve actually explained it to him several times, but—"

“Isn’t your primary objective to keep your direct supervisors, namely Dukes Hastur and Ligur, appraised of all crucial goings-on up there, in ways that they CAN understand?” Hecate pointed up and raised both eyebrows, awaiting his answer. 

Crowley blinked. “Well, yes, Sir, but, as you can imagine—”  
“He slept through the whole 19th century, you know,” muttered the duke to Hecate conspiratorially. 

Crowley, now blushing furiously, tore off his glasses and pointed forcefully at Hastur. “That’s a bald-faced lie and you know it, you miserable—”

“Alright, alright!” said Lord Beezlebub loudly, standing up and moving between the two demons. “Stop this at once, both of you! What kind of impression do you think you’re making on the capitol?”

“An awful one!” The duke, who never did understand the concept of rhetorical questions, stood up and glared past Beezlebub at Crowley with 6,000 years' worth of pure, unadulterated hatred. “Which is why he shouldn’t have been allowed to present his insipid idea in the first place!” Hastur pointed a ghostly white, grimy hand accusingly at Crowley. 

“’Insipid?’” repeated Crowley incredulously. “Insipid?! You bastard, that was three years of painstaking—”

“Oh, you have yet to learn the true meaning of pain, Crawly,” hissed the duke in a very dangerous tone. “Its high time you—”

“WILL YOU LOT PLEASE SHUT UP?!” 

The two demons complied immediately, instead joining everyone else as they stared in alarm at a very aggravated Hecate. Her large green eyes were reduced to mere slits as she glared at the offending parties, pressed something on a thin, black rectangle and held the hand-sized object to her right ear. 

“Sorry about that,” Hecate said into the device, her smooth voice quieter but still quite annoyed. “A couple of screeching Night Gaunts broke in and began fighting over a piece of carrion,” she continued, glancing in exasperation at Hastur and Crowley, who were staring in mortification at their very respective shoes (black platform heels for one, 1940s Oxfords for the other). 

“Anyway, can you repeat what you said? Uh-huh. Yeah. Oookaaay,” she said suspiciously, drawing out the last word as she continued to speak into the box. Hastur frowned up at her in confusion, then whispered to Beezlebub, “What the bloody hell is she doing?” 

“She's talking to someone on some sort of mobile phone,” explained Crowley, leaning towards the two demons, who looked at him with mild interest. “They aren’t meant to come out for a decade or so, but I guess headquarters has their ways. They’re gonna be all the rage in—”  
“What’s a mobile phone?” asked Hastur innocently (well, as innocently as someone who invented the Bubonic Plague could sound). 

Crowley blinked and stared at the duke for a moment, before reaching a hand up, clenching in near Hastur’s face and hissing through tightly clenched teeth, “I swear to Satan, if you ask me that one more time—”

“What?!” said Hecate loudly into the phone, causing the three demons to jump. “What do you mean, 'not safe for me?’ I’m a High Priestess of Hell! I’m the one who—no, don’t you dare play that—YOU LISTEN TO ME, LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR!” 

Every demon, troll, imp and other Hellish entity gasped audibly and covered their mouths with a hand or other appropriate extremity. One particularly large and bloody demon named Frghk, who had just returned from the Torture Chamber H with a rather satisfied expression on his moldy face, fainted dead away at the mention of their master. 

“If you think,” hissed Hecate in a terrifyingly quiet tone, turning away from the horrified crowd, “that I am going to spend one second longer than I have to here, in this blessed swamp, especially with the battle of the century raging in Pandemonium, then you’ve officially—no, you—don’t you dare hang up on me! LUCIFER!” she cried desperately into the flat rectangle. “YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME HERE! THEY DON’T KNOW WHAT COMPUTERS ARE! LUCIFER!!”

A tense silence infiltrated the conference room as Hecate sighed, lowered her hand and sat down on a rickety chair. Her mesmerizing emerald eyes gazed listlessly into a dark corner as she slumped down slightly and placed the phone back in her purse.  
“Um, Sir?” 

Everyone turned to look at Vlodscrab, who had tentatively crept over to the despondent female. She turned her head toward him, her lovely pale face still blank. 

“I was just wondering,” continued the imp, emboldened by the attention bestowed upon him. “What actually is a computer?”

Everyone held their breath as Hecate closed her eyes, leaned forward and buried her face in her white hands. “Can someone please get me a cyanide and vodka?” she asked, her normally clear and confident tone muffled. “Or really anything that’ll almost kill me, but not quite?” 

“On it,” replied Vlodscrab, racing out of the room faster than Crowley’s Bentley on a deserted highway.


	3. Coping Mechanisms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hecate drinks and vents with Beezlebub until a very unwelcome colleague calls.

“Hecate, you really need to stop,” said Beezlebub, zeir brows furrowed worriedly. 

“No, this is it, I can feel it!” The raven-haired beauty screwed up her face and snapped her fingers with deliberate purpose, the loud pop echoing in Beezlebub's cavernous office.

“......Yeah, you’re still here,” her princely ally informed her sympathetically. 

Hecate growled, opened her eyes and grabbed a half-finished bottle of straight rubbing alcohol off Beezlebub’s metal desk. Sitting back down on a rather moldy armchair, she crossed her long, shapely pale legs and swallowed the rest of the burning liquid, hoping it might be enough to get her at least slightly buzzed. 

“Im gonna kill him,” she seethed, wiping her mouth and vanishing the bottle with an elegant wave of her right hand. 

Beezlebub raised a thick black eyebrow. “Oh, really? And how exactly will you accomplish that?”

Hecate shot zem the dirtiest look she could muster. “Oh shut it,” she hissed. “Like you don’t want to be there just as much as me, raging bloody war against those fucking ghouls and their pathetic excuse for a king.” 

“Yes, but I’m not threatening to murder our indestructible master over not bring able to,” Beezlebub pointed out, snapping her armchair closer to Hecate’s. 

“He’s not indestructible,” muttered Hecate viciously, shaking her head and grimacing. “I bet I could kill him if I tried hard enough.” 

“Hmm. That reminds me of what that priest said,” mused Beezlebub, leaning back and looking up thoughtfully. 

“What priest?” 

“You know, the one who tried to exorcise The Dark Lord out of that baby boy, oh, maybe three centuries hence?”

“Oh, yeah.” Hecate tilted her head in rememberence. “I didn’t know human organs could still work after being turned inside out and filled with ichor. Temporarily, I mean.” 

“It was a surprise to us all,” agreed Beezlebub, nodding and shrugging. “But the point is—”

“Fine, fine, I get the point,” groaned Hecate, rubbing her temples. “I don’t really want to kill him anyway. You know that. I just don’t understand why he doesn’t want me there, or at least my powers.” Her pale, angular face softened into a nice blend of confusion and shame, which was not lost on Beezlebub.

“You know it’s not like that,” zey assured her, placing an olive-skinned hand on Hecate’s strong shoulder. “The Dark Lord knows that, powers aside, you’re one of the most agile, cunning and deadly fighters we have.” Zey smiled hopefully into Hecate’s melancholy face. 

Hecate scoffed but smirked back, her large emerald orbs now glimmering slightly. “You always know just what lies will make me feel better.” 

Beezlebub grinned, shrugged nonchalantly and leaned back comfortably in zeir chair. “What are allies for? Besides, that’s why you come to Minauros so often anyway—the free flattery!” 

Hecate rolled her eyes and leaned back as well. “Trust me, I WOULD visit more if this place wasn’t so……ugh,” she replied, her fine features illustrating her disgust. “Why he stationed YOU, of all demons, here instead of somewhere respectable, like Pandemonium or at LEAST Nessus—”

“Also unlike you,” interrupted Beezlebub loftily, “I place unconditional trust in our master's wise decisions. I suggest you try it sometime.” 

Hecate scoffed again, crossed her slender arms over her ample chest and rolled her eyes. “’Wise’ my ass,” she grumbled. “The motherfucker’s been putting less thought into his decisions than ever. Like he’s bored, restless, impulsive. I mean,” she continued, leaning toward Beezlebub in frustration, “would you call the Vietnam War 'wise,’ for Satan’s sake?” 

Beezlebub frowned. “Of course, it was by far one of our greatest accomplishments—”

“In terms of souls collected and overall violence, yes,” agreed Hecate. “But NOT when you take into account the whole “Make Love, not War” propaganda it inevitably triggered! How are we supposed to end the world by 2000 if these peace-loving, unwashed heathens insist upon disabling nuclear weapons, respecting the environment and being KIND to each other? Does he not remember what happened the LAST time someone told people to “be kind to each other?!” 

Beezlebub’s light brown face paled. “Oh, fuck,” zey whispered. 

“YEAH 'Oh, fuck!” yelled Hecate, sitting on the edge of her seat and gesturing aggressively. “What in Mammon’s name is the bastard thinking?! We can’t afford another Christ! We could barely afford the first one!” 

“That’s true.” Her partner shivered. “I mean, if you hadn’t suggested the Holy Wars—”

“It wasn’t just me, it was a team effort,” Hecate said dismissively, waving Beezlebub’s comment aside like it was an irksome fly. “The point is, we need to nip this whole “hippie” thing in the bud before things start to get really good up there!” 

Beezlebub said nothing, just stared blankly at a large portrait of a mutilated horse carcass on the opposite wall. 

Hecate stared at her catatonic ally for a minute, blinked, then rolled her eyes yet again, but this time in frustration at herself. “Ugh, I’m sorry, Bee. I didn’t mean to burden you. We have it under control,” she tried to assure her vehemently, her face brighter. “You know me, hyperbolic to a fault.” 

Beezlebub nodded, still staring at the Dead horse like it held the key to immortality. 

Hecate groaned and slumped back into her stained yet rather cushy armchair. “Fuck this day,” she grumbled. “First, I have to watch Heckle and Jeckle argue over who’s the least incompetent. Then, The Dark Lord in his “infinite wisdom,” she continued, using air quotes and a mocking voice, “uses his powers to ground me in the most miserable city in all of Hell, which is saying a lot. Of course, I respond by threatening to destroy him, guzzling 300-year-old single malt rubbing alcohol like a teenager and scaring the fuck out of the one being trying to comfort me.” 

Beezlebub blinked and looked at Hecate. “Sorry, I zoned out. Did you just say something about a 300-year-old teenager?”

Hecate rolled her eyes, this time at another’s stupidity. “Forget it,” she sighed, hugging herself and snuggling further into the armchair. After a beat, she laughed dryly, grinned in spite of herself and began conversationally, “You know, of course, that the only thing that could make this day worse would be—”

A loud vibrating noise from her purse interrupted the tall female. Eagerly, she reached inside and fumbled for her phone. The lit screen illuminated the hopeful expression on her attractive visage, as well as the disappointment, frustration and annoyance that proceeded it. 

“Speak of the devil,” she said incredulously, shaking her head slowly, “and the devil shall fucking appear.” She then put the phone back in her onyx faux snakeskin purse rather aggressively and threw it across the room. 

Beezlebub raised an eyebrow. “What was that?” zey asked, bemused. “If it’s The Dark Lord, why don’t you answer it?”  
Glowering at the prince, Hecate roughly got up, heels clicking on the linoleum showed her the screen, which displayed the caller’s ID. “Wrong dark lord,” she replied darkly.

Beezlebub’s brown eyes widened, then zey burst out laughing. “Oh my Satan, that’s hilarious!!” zey gasped, oblivious to Hecate’s murderous expression. “He really does have impeccable timing, doesn’t he?”

Hecate grimaced at her still vibrating phone like it was a fresh bloody goat lung. “Shit. I’d rather stay in Minauros forever than answer his call right now.” 

Still chuckling slightly and wiping zeir wet eyes, Beezlebub asked, “Why don’t you just ignore his calls? Its not that hard.” 

Zeir ally glared at her with steaming resentment as the phone finally stilled. “Oh, it’s not that hard? Tell me Bee, how many times a day does he call YOU? You are his direct counterpart, after all.” 

Beezlebub frowned. “Days? I don’t even hear from him monthly! Maybe once or twice a year, barring any changes to the Great Plan.”

“Yeah, I know,” replied Hecate, eyes narrowed. “That’s because, ever since I took this fucking job in 35 fucking AD, Peter Perfect has taken it upon himself to be an incomparably huge pain in my ass, which, since 1965, includes not one, not five, but at least TEN phone calls per diem. That’s 10 mind-numbing, insipid, one-sided conversations about his DISGUSTING hobbies and thinly-veiled attempts at asking me out on dates.” 

Beezlebub gave her a wry smile. “Come on, “disgusting hobbies?” He works upstairs, how bad could it—”

“Men’s fashion, Bee,” explained Hecate emphatically. “An insane and inexplicable obsession with almost two millennia worth of men's fashion, most currently those new Armani suits that cost more than a new house. Trust me, my dear ally,” she insisted as her phone began to buzz angrily in her tightly clenched hand again, “there is nothing more disgusting than in-depth knowledge of human male clothing choices.” 

Beezlebub said nothing, just stared in horror at the name once again displayed on the phone’s flat screen. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” continued Hecate, standing up and straightening her slightly wrinkled jacket, “my torturer awaits.” Taking a deep breath, she plastered a stiff smile onto her face, pushed something on the screen and held the phone up to her ear. 

“Hi, Gabriel,” Hecate said in a shockingly sweet voice as Beezlebub doubled over and shook with quiet laughter. Hecate shot zem a dirty look, which zey couldn’t see through the tears leaking from zeir dilated eyes. 

“Oh, I’m just….fantastic, thanks. How are you?” continued the female, her smile slowly morphing into a grimace. Beezlebub took a deep breath and tried to stop cackling so that zey could hear Gabriel's voice. Then, zey stood next to Hecate and leaned toward the phone, which she kindly tilted in her ally's direction slightly. The Lord of the Flies couldn’t make out any particular words, just a deep, charming male voice chatting away in a friendly manner.

“Really?” said Hecate in a falsely cheery tone after a bit. “Well, that’s just great. I’m glad you finally bought it. Nothing says “Archangel” like another $1200 suit.” She and Beezlebub shared a look of exasperation, annoyance and amusement. 

“Anyway, what can I do for you today, Gabriel?” continued Hecate briskly, hoping to get this over with ASAP. She gasped in mock surprise at his next statement, spoken in a more serious tone. “Why yes, as a matter of fact there IS a war raging in Pandemonium as we speak!” she replied in a high, girlish voice so unlike her normally low, soothing and somewhat seductive tone. “What a clever archangel you are……No, I have absolutely no idea!.....Really!......Well, you’d have to ask The Dark Lord himself regarding the why, but APPARENTLY it’s much more important for me to remain in Minauros than use my not inconsequential powers to help Lucifer vanquish a ghoulish horde in the capitol…….Yes, that’s right. Lord Beezlebub is right here actually, would you like to chat with zem?” Hecate smiled evilly at the prince, who was now shaking zeir head furiously, eyes wide with terror. 

“Oh, too bad. Perhaps another time then,” replied the tall, curvaceous female, face pouting with false disappointment. Beezlebub sighed in relief. “Now, if you want to know about the war itself, I really do suggest you call—oh, oh nononono, that’s absolutely not necessary,” she finished hurriedly, her sickly sweet customer service tone vanishing and replaced by panic and desperation. “No, Gabriel, you really don’t have—I’m fine, I’m with Beezlebub! There’s no reason for you to--Gabriel—don’t do—you can’t even-- Gabriel—Gab--Gabriel!....GABRIEL!! 

“Fuck,” Hecate hissed, slamming the phone on Beezlebub’s desk so hard it cracked the screen. After snapping her fingers and repairing it, the female buried her pale, beautiful face in her long elegant hands and muttered viscously, “Fuckfuckfuckfucketyfuck!” 

“What’s going on?” asked Beezlebub anxiously, looking down with concern at Hecate’s distraught frame. “What did he say?”

“He said,” began zeir ally in a soft, predatory voice that would have made any human's blood freeze instantly, “that he’s coming down here. To Minauros. NOW.”


	4. Gabriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel annoys the hell out of Hecate. Help comes from an unexpected quarter (to quote Agnes Nutter, Witch)

“What do you mean, 'he’s coming down here?!’” screeched Beezlebub, zeir normally composed face tensed with fear, anger and disbelief. 

“I mean,” said Hecate in a slightly louder but still terrifyingly dark tone, looking up at her ally with flashing emerald eyes, “that Archangel Gabriel, God’s primary messenger and leader of the four angelic armies, has somehow convinced himself that I am in some sort of danger—despite the fact that I am more powerful than the ghoulish hordes and MILES away from the ACTUAL battle to boot—and insists upon checking in on me. Immediately. Probably within the next 4 minutes, 5 if we’re extremely lucky.” 

Beelzebub blinked, then frowned and shook zeir head. “No, that’s not—he can’t just come down here whenever he bloody-well feels like it! We have to be FORMALLY INVITED to each other realms, for Hell's sake!”

“YOU have to be invited,” Hecate corrected zem grimly, “I don’t, given my position, and nor does he anymore thanks to our new contract, which I’m 98.6% sure he had OUR lawyers create due to the incalculable loopholes and ambiguity." The Hellish prince stared blankly at her. Hecate sighed. 

“Basically,” explained in a rather bored voice, legs crossed and eyes half closed, “given how closely we work together, Gabriel can appear wherever I am as long as it’s a legitimate emergency (which the contract of course refuses to define), or if he’s truly concerned about my physical or metaphysical well-being. Which for some reason or another he always is,” Hecate added sharply, “meaning I’m screwed from the get-go.”

Beezlebub ran a small hand threw zeir unruly short black hair, eyes wide in panic. “Why the fuck did you sign it, Tee?”

The tall female groaned and looked at her ally. “The original plan was to make him only want to appear when we wanted to deceive him about something—you know, like we’d meet in an underground missile silo or on the moon, or during a staged Illuminati initiation ceremony—but this fell apart immediately when the stupid bastard began popping in whenever he FELT like it. And with the most asinine excuses!” she continued, now standing, paving and gesturing angrily with her beautiful hands. “Like—”  
“How much time till here’s here?” interrupted Beezlebub anxiously. 

“Oh yeah, sorry.” Hecate checked her watch. “I’d say about 57 seconds, give or take a milli.” 

“Great.” Beezlebub collapsed into zeir chair and covered zeir exhausted face with a small, olive-skinned hand. 

Hecate glanced at zem apologetically. “Im sorry, Bee. I shouldn’t have told him where I was, that was stupid. Now he’s gonna screw up your sector!”

Beezlebub sighed and waved her apology aside, smiling tiredly. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry bout it. He can’t screw us up anymore than we already are anyway….” 

“Wanna bet?” Hecate challenged her, hands on her hips and one fine black eyebrow arched. 

Before the Lord of the Flies could reply, a blinding flash of golden white light filled the dark, cavernous office. Both Hellish allies covered their faces, crouched on the dirty cold linoleum and swore rather impressively as the light dimmed, revealing the being responsible for the illuminating intrusion.  
“Hecate?” a charming baritone asked anxiously. “Are you okay? What are you doing?”  
“Well,” explained Hecate patiently, uncovering her pale face and rubbing her sore eyes, “as infernal creatures who naturally fear the light, we are simply cowering in terror from your celestial brilliance, O Archangel Gabriel. Ugh, that’s better,” she added under her breath, blinking slowly as fuzzy images began to appear in her line of sight.  
“Oh,” replied the aforementioned angel, somewhat confused but very concerned by her sarcastic explanation. “I’m so sorry, I should have been more careful! Here, let me—”  
“I am fine, Gabriel,” grumbled Hecate, pushing aside the blurry yet still clearly muscular arm and hand he had extended to help her up. “You dulled your magnificence just in time to save our souls, for which we are ETERNALLY grateful.” Hecate’s low voice was positively soaked with sarcasm, her alluring green eyes tinged with poison as she stood slowly and glared up at the tall intruder. 

Even blurry and slightly out of focus, Archangel Gabriel was still extremely handsome, by Western European human standards. He was at least 6’9 (a good foot taller than Hecate without her heels) with broad, muscular shoulders and chest that tapered down elegantly into a sturdily slim torso. His legs were long and powerful (he jogged, for reasons Hecate had never understood) as were his arms, which uncovered would probably put Adonis to shame. This, coupled with his dark and perfectly trimmed hair, strong jawline and charming smile displaying perfect rows of white teeth made him the most desirable ethereal being among angels and demons infected with The Virus, as well as countless humans. 

All of this Hecate could accept, especially since she was apparently immune to said Virus. She didn’t care that God's third-in-command was pretty, nor in particular that he was a blithering idiot who wouldn’t know sarcasm if it bit him on his perfect nose. 

What Hecate hated, detested, even almost feared about Gabriel were his eyes; or rather, what they revealed. “The eyes are the windows to the soul,” after all, and the same applies to nonhuman entities. To a person with no particular occult or divine powers, the gorgeous archangel’s violet eyes would appear strange at first (humans tend not to display this hue) but after a beat merely gentle, guileless, kind, warm, light. And that is indeed how they do look, as long as the archangel is feeling content. 

But no one, not even one of God's highest angels, could remain content for 6,000 years. Hecate had only known him for 1,935 given her late birth, but that was much more than enough time to see Gabriel’s unique eyes frequently flash with white-hot fury; narrow and darken with hatred; burn with acid-green envy and gaze lazily down at his subordinates and humanity itself with a self-satisfied smirk on his chiseled features, as if they were all mere ants hoping, praying, begging him not to end their pathetic, useless little lives. 

Not that The Dark Lord, the being she served and worshipped above all else, was any different, really. But that was the problem: there should have been a difference. 

At the moment, Gabriel’s violet eyes displayed nothing but concern, kindness and affection for Hecate, whose viridian irises could not return the favor. 

“Why are you here?” Hecate said bluntly, ignoring the confusion now plastered on his attractive visage. She was exhausted, royally pissed off and far too sober to handle this stressful day properly; the sooner Gabriel left her and Beezlebub, the better.  
“Um,” he began, taken aback by her blank expression and aggressive vibes. He cleared his throat. “Well, as your celestial liaison I simply wanted to make sure you were safe given the current—"

“How kind,” sneered Hecate. “Now, as YOUR INFERNAL liaison, I suggest you get out of here as fast as you can, before the demons smell you.” 

Gabriel laughed. It was his condescending laugh, her fourth least favorite. “Oh, I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” he assured her with a wink. “Demons may be simple and terribly forgetful, but they always seem to remember what happens when they irk my brethren and I.” 

“Gee, thanks,” replied Hecate sarcastically, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms. “Im sure Lord Beezlebub also appreciates the description.” She gestured at her ally, who had been sitting on zeir armchair, watching (once zeir eyesight returned as well) their conversation with mild fascination. 

Gabriel's smug expression vanished and his tanned face paled. “Oh, I am sorry! I didn’t mean it like that,” he implored Hecate, violet eyes begging for forgiveness. “I just meant—well, first of all, none of that applies to YOU!” he insisted to the Lord of the Flies, finally acknowledging zeir presence after at least 10 minutes. “Second, well, what I said—well, it obviously applies in no way to YOU as well, Hecate, even less so than Beezlebub—”

“Oh?” said Hecate mildly, raising an eyebrow and placing her hands on her hips, the right of which was jutted out slightly. “And why is that, dear Gabriel?”

The archangel gulped. He knew something bad was about to happen, but not how to prevent it. The best he could do was explain with a weak laugh, “Well, you know! I mean, you’re not even fully—” A wide-eyed warning look from Beezlebub silenced him. 

Hecate raised her eyebrows in mock durprise. “What?” she asked mildly. “I’m not even fully what?”

Gabriel cleared his throat nervously. “Nothing,” he replied lamely, looking a bit terrified now. 

“I’m not fully…..nothing?” 

“Come on, Tee; just let it drop,” advised Beezlebub in an undertone to zeir ally. 

“No,” replied Hecate firmly, crossing her long arms and fixing Gabriel with a defiant expression. “I want to hear him say it.” 

The archangel blinked a few times, as though feigning innocence. “Say what?” he asked cheerfully, his face once again friendly and content. 

Hecate's was anything but. Her emerald eyes blazed with a fury that illuminated her pale, angular face as it moved slowly towards Gabriel’s now very uncomfortable one. When barely an inch separated their bodies, Hecate grabbed his tie and roughly pulled it down so that his horrified purple irises were level with her flaming green ones. Their faces were almost touching, but not quite. 

“I want to hear you say that I’m a Celestern, whose demonic identity means less than my angelic despite the fact that both are equally present in my soul,” she hissed dangerously. He gulped and looked away from her blazing stare. “That because I’m not fully demonic, I am therefore more intelligent than MY brethren, whom you have no problem bullying to your pure little heart's content.” 

“I don’t—” began Gabriel in a hushed voice, still not looking at her. 

“If you ever say anything derogatory about ANY Hellish entities, demonic or otherwise, again in my or Lord Beezlebub's presence,” interrupted Hecate in a slightly louder tone so her ally could hear, “you will find yourself far more than merely irked, Archangel Gabriel. Do I make myself clear?” 

Gabriel nodded furiously, terrified eyes staring at the floor as though it might swallow him whole. 

“Good.” Hecate released the angel, who quickly moved away from both Hellish entities, coughing and straightening his tie. 

“Um, excuse me, Sir?” 

Both Gabriel and Hecate whipped around to see a very freaked-out Crowley standing in the wide open doorway. “I-is everything alright?” he continued tentatively, glancing from her to the archangel with apprehension and faint nausea. 

“Who are you?” barked Gabriel, posture ramrod straight and hands behind his back like an army general. “What business do you have here, demon?” 

“Hey, that qualifies as derogatory, Mr. Holier-than-Thou!” snapped Hecate, pushing him aside and glaring at him. “No one is named “Demon” here. And besides, he was addressing me.” 

Gabriel raised a thick but well-manicured brown eyebrow. “But he said, Sir. That’s—”

“—what I’ve finally persuaded everyone here to call me, so don’t screw it up with any gender bullshit!” warned the Celestern. 

Gabriel frowned in severe confusion. “But that makes no sense,” he cried, surprising everyone with his passion. “You’re a, what is it again, a High Priestess, not to mention—”

“How exactly can I help you, Master Crowley?” Hecate said loudly over the archangel's complaints, addressing the demon with a stiff smile and clasped hands. 

Crowley blinked. “Uh, sorry to interrupt—” he began, glancing awkwardly from the satanic Celestern to the archangel. 

“Believe me, you interrupting nothing,” Hecate assured him, then paused. “Hang on, how long were you standing there?”

The shaggy haired demon gulped and fidgeted with the fringe on his black leather jacket. “Oh, I really don’t, um—”

“What did you see and hear, Crowley?” said Hecate firmly, raising an eyebrow. 

Trying to remember what his final meal had been (Had he enjoyed it? Was it worthy of being deemed his “last supper,” as it were?), Crowley didn’t respond until Beezlebub barked, “Crowley! Answer the question!”

Metaphysically unable to resist a direct command from his supervisor within such close quarters, Crowley blurted, “I saw Sir grab the archangel’s tie, whisper some stuff about being nicer to us Hellions and let him go. That’s all, I swear!” he insisted, pleading with clasped hands and desperate snake eyes behind dark glasses for her to spare his soul. 

Hecate blinked. “Oh,” she said, eyebrows raised and high cheekbones slightly flushed. “That’s alright then. Sorry Crowley, I was scared you got the wrong impression.” She smiled slightly at the demon, her pale face lighting up and revealing the radiant beauty she kept hidden beneath disdain and boredom. 

Crowley blinked. “Oh, no, it was my fault completely, Sir,” he replied nervously, as Gabriel watched him with suspicion glinting in his violet irises. “I should have knocked or something. Anyway, I’ll be off now, ta-ra—”

“Wait, why did you come to my office if you didn’t need anything?” asked Beezlebub, crossing their arms and standing up. 

“W-w-well I did, you see. Need something, I mean. Well, not really NEED, it’s more of a—”

“Again, how can I help you, Master Crowley?” interrupted Hecate loudly and as patiently as she could. 

“Right.” The tall, lanky demon cleared his throat. “Um, I was just wondering, Sir, if The Dark Lord had given any feedback on my—”

“Oh, right. Damn,” hissed Hecate, placing a hand over her weary eyes. “I’m sorry, Crowley,” she said sympathetically. “He’s not answering his mobile; no one is at Pan, as they’re all fighting or dead. Or hiding, I suppose,” she added fairly. “Anyway, I’m 100% sure he’ll love it, it really is quite revolutionary in it’s simplicity.” 

“Wow, thanks,” said Crowley quietly, smiling to himself. Then he adopted a very nonchalant air and added modestly with an offhand shrug, “But, you know, probably nothing any demon couldn’t have done were they in my position.” 

“Probably,” agreed Hecate seriously, reaching for her purse and removing her phone. Beezlebub clenched her teeth so zey wouldn’t smile. “But you’ll still get a commendation, likely a titanium medal this time.” 

Crowley’s ears perked up. “Really? Titanium? I heard you only got those for really impressive—”

“Sarah ordered too many, we just gotta get rid of them at this point,” explained Hecate, scrolling through her phone and frowning slightly. 

“Oh,” said Crowley softly, crestfallen. “Right. Makes sense, yeah. Well!” he continued louder, clapping his hands once and addressing the three imposing figures. “I’ll just—I’ll be off then. Thank you very much, Sir,” he added, bowing very low to Hecate. “Your presence here in Minauros is truly an honor.” 

“Not the word I would have chosen, but probably more appropriate,” muttered Hecate without looking up from her bright screen. 

“Good evening, Lord Beezlebub.” Crowley bowed with equal gusto to his primary supervisor, who nodded and retreated behind zeir desk. Zey snapped and a mountain of pink slips flew out of the room, dodging Hecate, Gabriel and Crowley’s tall frames. 

“And, um, good evening, um, Your—” began Crowley, unsure how to address the leader of an army exclusively comprised of his sworn enemies. 

“What were you two talking about?” interrupted said leader, frowning from Crowley to Hecate. “What’s he getting a so-called “commendation” for?”

Hecate glared at him. “Ordinance 43-G clearly states,” she began angrily, advancing slowly on Gabriel, “that, ‘Neither the celestial nor infernal liason shall make inquiries regarding any plans, schemes, plots or other developing concepts pertaining to or divine or diabolical work, as the case may be.’”

“’UNLESS,' added Gabriel, pointing at Hecate and leaning towards her slightly, “the plans, schemes etc. in question directly threaten the uninterrupted continuation of The Great Plan.’” 

No one was shocked to see the smug smile dominating Gabriel’s lips. Crowley, however, being a demon who specialized in propagating and sensing low-grade mischief, such as teasing and flirting, recognized more than a hint of playfulness (and, dare he say it, amusement??) in the holy being's violet eyes. The same wave of nausea he’d experienced upon seeing Hecate and Gabriel so close returned. Oh shit, he thought, stinging bile rising in his throat. Ohshitohshitohshit….

Hecate stared blankly at Gabriel’s smug, playful and, yes, actually quite amused face, her emerald eyes not even blinking. “Okay, here’s what my day’s been like so far, Gabriel,” she finally said, walking back to and sitting cross-legged in the moldy armchair again. Her face was grey, haggard, defeated. “I rode on Hell's slowest subway, which smells even worse than you’d think, then snapped myself into what is basically Hell's ghetto to watch two grown-ass demons compete for the title of ‘Universe’s Most Pompous Prick.’ Both of you won, by the way,” Hecate added, looking around Gabriel to see Crowley still trying not to vomit in Lord Beezlebub’s office. “Congratulations.” 

Crowley, who was too busy screaming “Bohemian Rhapsody” in his head so that he couldn’t feel the rich Fettuccine and garlic bread (THAT was my last meal, his weird little brain announced triumphantly) threatening to make a second appearance to listen, gave a thumbs up and a weak smile, hoping it was sufficient. 

Hecate rolled her eyes. “THEN,” she continued, rounding on Gabriel, who was standing and watching her intently, “Lucifer calls to say, 'Hey, so, there’s the war of the century going on here, and we’re sort of outnumbered. Despite this, I’m gonna have YOU, Hell's foremost High Priestess and a decent fighter to boot, stay 500 miles away in Minauros, where you can’t help in any way or even know what the FUCK is going on in your capitol! Okay, thanks! Bye!'

“Now, for the pies de resistance,” she spat, glaring daggers at the archangel. “Just when I’m starting to relax a bit, a certain ARCHANGEL graces my presence in the bowels of HELL, for reasons I still cannot fathom—" 

I can, thought Crowley, swallowing a particularly large amount of regurgitated food before it could escape his tightly pursed lips. 

“—and proceeds to insult my heritage—”  
“I in NO way—” said Gabriel, quite affronted by the accusation.

“—berate my employees, then argue semantics about a century-old treaty,” she finished, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. “Now, if there’s nothing else I can do for you, O Archangel Gabriel, I suggest you go back where you belong.” 

There was a pause as Gabriel looked down guiltily. “Im sorry, Hecate,” he said softly. He glanced up at her. “I just wanted to help.”

Hecate scoffed. “Really. Well, unless you can override the Grounding Charm Lucifer's placed on me, or suddenly decide to help Hell defeat Grogen and his ghoulish army, you really can’t.” 

Gabriel stared at her. “Why do you want to be there, fighting?” he asked innocently (well, as innocently as someone who owns over 67 Armani suits, 34,000 ties in various hues and 20 full-length mirrors could sound). 

Hecate looked up at him with an open face, far too exhausted to conceal anything from her liason/mortal enemy. “Because it’s my home. And he’s my boss. And I belong there,” she answered simply.

There was a very long, thick pause as Gabriel stared at her thoughtfully, head cocked to the side slightly. “Well,” he finally said after at least 3 minutes, violet eyes soft, “I don’t know about the second option you offered, but I think I could achieve the first.” 

Hecate and Beezlebub (Crowley was gone, having taken advantage of the distracting silence to sneak out the door, sprint to the nearest closet and vomit spectacularly into an old top hat) stared blankly at the archangel. 

“What do you mean?” asked Hecate in confusion. “You’re not—” 

“Since Lucifer and I are still technically brothers,” interrupted Gabriel, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, “we should be able to at least undo each other’s minor miracles or charms. There’s certainly no harm in trying.” 

Hecate narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the archangel, who was now kneeling beside her and feeling the air surrounding her body with his large, clean hands. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

Gabriel froze and raised his eyebrows. “I’m feeling your aura,” he said matter-of-factly, face dead serious, “to see where I can break the charm.” 

“Ah. Of course you are,” she replied, trying to conceal her nervousness with sarcasm. 

“It would be easier if you stood up,” he added after a bit, eyes innocent and unaware of the implications of this proposal.

Hecate cringed and groaned but complied. “My aura better be the only thing you’re feeling, bucko,” she growled as Gabriel circled and traveled up and down her statuesque frame, hands about one foot away. 

Gabriel stopped, hands hovering over her right shoulder. “Wait, what?” he asked, genuine confusion in his purple irises. Hecate just sighed and told him to keep going. 

“Aha! Here it is,” he announced, hands over her face. “I think he’s blocking your Third Eye.” 

“Sonofabitch motherfucking twat,” muttered Hecate. Gabriel, who hadn’t quite heard, frowned and asked, “Sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing. Can you break it?”

“I think so,” he said, voice straining as he tried to stretch the air in front of her sixth chakra. “I just—need to—get this--thing--open--ugh—there!” His hands flew apart, and Hecate's entire body collapsed in a crumpled heap on the cold floor. 

“Way to go, Wank-Wings,” snapped Beezlebub, kneeling down to examine her comatose ally. 

Gabriel dove down very un-angelically and snapped his fingers above her face, hope and terror in his violet orbs. To everyone’s relief, Hecote stirred immediately, blinking blearily and yawning as if awakening from a deep slumber. 

“What happened,” she groaned, then frowned when she saw how close Gabriel’s overjoyed face was to her own. Pushing him away with a firm hand on his shoulder, she sat up and blinked. 

“How do you feel?” asked Beezlebub tentatively. 

Hecate looked at her, then at her right hand. “Weird,” she confessed, then snapped her fingers and disappeared. 

“Where is she?!” asked Gabriel, frantically looking around the room.

“Pandemonium, obviously,” sneered the Lord of the Flies. “Honestly Gabriel, sometimes you can be—”

“—a pretty decent bloke, actually,” finished Hecate, who had reappeared seconds before, hands clasped around the mouth of a bleating and squirming black sack twice as large as she. “That was a trial run, just nipped over to Dis to grab some of those carnivorous sheep,” she explained to Berzlebub, indicating the bag with her head. 

She then smiled at Gabriel, probably the first real one she’d ever offered the insufferable fool. “Thanks for undoing the charm,” she said. “I really appreciate it.” 

Gabriel just stared at her, eyes full of things she didn’t want to see. Things she could never reciprocate, at least not to him. 

“Wish me luck!” Hecate cried, waving her free hand before snapping and disappearing again. This left the Prince of Hell and Archangel to glance awkwardly at each other before the latter suddenly remembered he had a meeting in five minutes, and the former pretended to answer a non-existent call on zeir flip phone, saying it was urgent as zey scurried out of the room like a cockroach evading an exterminator.


	5. Oh, THAT'S Why.....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at work in Pandemonium, Hecate and Lucifer discuss the suprise ghoul attack and why he grounded her in Minauros. What's horrifying enough to frighten the Devil?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I published this chapter last night, but I didn't like how I ended it so I edited it and re-published it just now. Hope you enjoy the new ending!!
> 
> Also, in Pandemonium they use 21st century technology (smartphones, texting, etc), while in Minauros they just got electricity. Pandemonium is where all the tech devices are created and workshopped to see how much they might corrupt mortal souls in a few decades.

“Mr. Morningstar's line, please hold. Mr. Morningstar’s line, please hold. Mr. Morningstar’s line, this is Hecate speaking, how can I help you?”

The rather spacious office was silent, save for the ticking of an imposing grandfather clock, while she listened to the caller intently. 

“Yes, thank you for getting back to us, Mr. Seville. Mr. Morningstar has a rather intriguing proposition for you regarding your current financial woes?” Hecate made sure her voice went up slightly at the end, in order to appear more passive. “Uh-huh……yes, that’s right…….Oh, he’ll send one of his advisors to explain all of that at a private meeting. Perhaps tonight, Bernardo’s, 8pm? The company’s treat, of course.......Wonderful!” She allowed some praise and excitement into her tone, as it helped the prospective clients feel validated that they were indeed making the “right” decision. 

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Seville?” Hecate purred, now utilizing half a milligram of the kilos of deadly seductive charms she possessed as a Celestern to blur the client’s memory of this conversation ever so slightly. “No? Well, don’t hesitate to call back if you think of anything. My pleasure. Good day.” 

Hecate, who was sitting at her meticulously clean and organized large mahogany desk, hung up the phone, drew a line through “Victor Barnaby Seville” written on a long sheet of parchment and pushed 6 on her phone. 

“Hey, Sandy. Can you send Jeremy to Manhattan, specifically Bernardo’s restaurant, around like 7:50pm? Tell him to bring the contract ready to sign, and the photos in an unmarked manila folder, in case Seville needs some persuasion?.......No, that won’t be necessary, he’s pretty scared of violence and I don’t think—well, that’s true. You can never be too careful. Sure, have Jeremy bring whatever he wants, but nothing anachronistic. If I have to read one more audit about how some intern used an Iron Maiden or thumb screws during an interrogation, I’m gonna use it on them myself…….Thanks, Sandy, you’re the best. Bye!” 

Hecate hung up the phone, sighed and looked to the left, where a huge square window revealed the metallic beauty of Pandemonium. The sun (well, not THE sun, as this couldn’t possibly penetrate the dark energy separating Hell from Earth) blazed a fiery gold in the sky and glinted off the steel skyscrapers, each built for the purpose of housing Hell's royalty, starting with its Master, Creater, Overlord and King: Satan, Master of Lies, the Devil, Antithesis of Truth, the Morning Star, Bringer of Light, Evil Incarnate, Chaos, Mephistopheles, Lord of the Underworld, The Evil One, Trickster, Serpent, Fallen Angel, Mammon.

These days, he mostly went by Lucifer (his angelic name before the Fall) and added Morningstar as a kind of surname to make personal dealings with clients more simple. Everyone in Hell could call him whatever they wanted from the above list, provided it was said with adequate fear and reverence. To save time, most demons referred to Lucifer as “Our Master” or “The Dark Lord,” while the trolls, imps, vampires and other Hellish but non-demonic creatures alluded to him simply as “Blackheart.” 

Hecate, Lucifer's personal assistant and closest confidant, followed her own rules. When speaking to humans, she referred to him strictly as Mr. Morningstar. At formal events or meetings in Heaven, Hell or Purgatory, it was “The Dark Lord” or occasionally “Satan.” However: when by herself, amongst close allies or alone with Lucifer, all bets were off. 

“Hey there, champ,” Hecate teased as Satan, Master of Lies, the Devil, Antithesis of Truth, the Morning Star, Bringer of Light, Evil Incarnate, Chaos, Mephistopheles, Lord of the Underworld, The Evil One, Trickster, Serpent, Fallen Angel, Mammon, etc entered the room. “How’s your arm? Any better since I yanked it out of that Karx's jaw?” She smiled broadly up at her boss, emerald eyes twinkling with mischief. 

Satan, Master of Lies, the Devil, Antithesis of Truth, the Morning Star, Bringer of Light, Evil Incarnate, Chaos, Mephistopheles, Lord of the Underworld, The Evil One, Trickster, Serpent, Fallen Angel, Mammon, etc., cocked his head, smiled affectionately at his PA and chuckled. 

“Yes,” he said in a deep, charming and often quite seductive voice. “If it hadn’t been for you, my dear Hecate, my right arm would at this moment be digesting in that beast's stomach.” 

“Which would have been quite inconvenient,” added Hecate seriously, “as your current corporation type is out of stock. You would have either had to do everything left-handed (which, let’s be honest, would not have gone well for either of us) or inhabited one of the overstocked corporations. Oh!” she exclaimed, lifting a finger in excitement. “Like that 'Woody Allen' -esque one! No one’s used that in a few decades! Warehouses must be CRAWLING with Allen’s!” 

Satan, Master of Lies, the Devil, Antithesis of Truth, the Morning Star, Bringer of Light, Evil Incarnate, Chaos, Mephistopheles, Lord of the Underworld, The Evil One, Trickster, Serpent, Fallen Angel, Mammon, etc smiled wider, showing sparklingly white and perfectly straight but otherwise very normal-looking teeth (no fangs, venom sacs etc), and laughed heartily. 

“That’s an excellent point,” he chuckled, setting down his black briefcase on his wooden desk a few yards from hers. He then glided over to where Hecate sat and offered his strong right hand to her, still smiling affectionately. “Thank you, High Priestess Hecate, for saving me, and frankly all of Hell, from a fate much worse than any death I could contrive,” he said sincerely, dark russet eyes gazing deeply into her wide emerald ones. 

Hecate stood up, top of her head coming up to his shoulders, and firmly shook the hand of Satan, Master of Lies, the Devil, Antithesis of Truth, the Morning Star, Bringer of Light, Evil Incarnate, Chaos, Mephistopheles, Lord of the Underworld, The Evil One, Trickster, Serpent, Fallen Angel, Mammon, etc. 

“While my intentions for grounding you were altruistic—” Lucifer continued as they released hands.

“Altruistic my ass!” cried Hecate, crossing her arms and frowning. “You would have been discorporated, Pandemonium destroyed and Hell overtaken by those disgusting bastards if Gabriel hadn’t broken the charm! How much safer would I have been in that swampy sinkhole when Grogen started rounding up your staff for enslavement?”

Lucifer glowered at the mention of Gabriel and furrowed his brow in concern at the rest, but smoothly replied, “He was threatening to take you down first. I had no choice. I’m sorry things almost—”

“—got completely fucked up by you?” interrupted the irritated Celestern. “Which of us is both immune to and can create holy water, Luce? Which of us knows the ghoul hordes' battle strategies inside and out? Which of us can heal both herself and others when there’s severe injury?” 

Lucifer inhaled sharply, them exhaled slowly, closing his eyes as though trying to stay composed. “I understand, Hecate, but—”

“You weren’t being altruistic, Mr. Morningstar. That would have entailed protecting your entire kingdom, not just some indispensable—”

“You are NOT indispensable!” yelled Lucifer angrily. His normally russet brown eyes suddenly blazed with red Hellfire as his 6’6 slim frame grew a few feet. 

Hecate took a step back, eyes wide with fear. In almost 2,000 years of working together, he had never raised his voice to her. Not even when the whole “Burning Witches” thing went south—and that was nearly catastrophic. She was certainly no stranger to his indefatigable wrath, nor his infamous demonic form, but since neither were ever directed at her she just observed them calmly in her periphery, thinking about what to order him for dinner later to replenish the energy spent being, well, him. 

Hecate felt a rush of sympathy for the poor souls who HAD been at the receiving end of the Devil’s fury as he towered over her, still humanoid but eyes fiery and breathing heavy like a bull's. 

However, as suddenly as Lucifer's anger reared its ugly head, it blinked in mutual sympathy at the scared female Nephilim leaning away from him and retreated. Within seconds, Satan was once again 6’6 and broad shouldered, with long, muscular limbs; olive-toned skin that made him look 35 instead of 6,000; thick black hair that flipped effortlessly across his wrinkle-free brow; a slim but sturdily built torso; and soft, inscrutable russet eyes looking out from an angelic poker face. 

Oddly enough, at the moment Lucifer's visage wasn’t so much concealing as it was openly discussing and asking for customer feedback on his painful emotions as he stared mournfully into his assistant's frightened eyes. Satan, Master of Lies, the Devil, Antithesis of Truth, the Morning Star, Bringer of Light, Evil Incarnate, Chaos, Mephistopheles, Lord of the Underworld, The Evil One, Trickster, Serpent, Fallen Angel, Mammon, etc then closed his eyes, sat on a nearby low metal chair and buried his face in his hands, fingers running through his hair so roughly Hecate was worried he’d pull it out. 

“I am so very sorry, Hecate,” said Lucifer after a bit, looking up to see his assistant moving slowly toward him and watching him warily. “That was barbaric, abusive and disgusting. You have done nothing but serve Hell with intelligence, wisdom and courage for millennia, with great quantitative as well as qualitative success, and I repay you by losing my temper. I am truly sorry,” he finished, his eyes not pleading for forgiveness, defeated, like they knew it wasn’t coming and there was no point. 

“Lucifer,” said Hecate softly, pulling a similar chair by him and placing a pale hand on his broad, muscular back. “Everything is okay. I understand, and I’m sorry if I—”

“You did nothing wrong,” he said firmly, glaring at the floor and clenching his fists tightly. “The fault is mine. I hoped I wouldn’t have to tell you, that I could somehow—even without Hell's best soldier and witch—defeat the ghouls and keep you safe, never having to reveal what they did.” 

“What are you talking about?” asked Hecate, very confused now. 

Lucifer glanced up at her with sad eyes, full of longing and innocence she knew still existed inside his damned soul. Hecate stared at this light, absorbing it until he screwed his eyes shut, took a deep breath and replied in a low, emotionless tone, “Five days ago, Grogen send me a package containing Lariat's severed head.” 

Hecate gasped. “Oh my Satan,” she whispered, horrified. “The poor man….he had so much—”

“He wasn’t a MAN, Hecate; he was a Celestern!” growled Lucifer. Hecate’s eyes widened in horrified realization, which Satan mistook for fear at his harshness. He took a deep breath and gazed at her very forlornly. “I’m sorry, I swear I’m not angry with you—how could I ever be—I just need you to understand what’s going on here.” 

Hecate nodded, face stoic. “I do now,” she replied, eyes down. “They found a way to kill Celesterns, meaning they could have indeed—”

“But nothing happened,” interrupted The Dark Lord, placing a large warm hand on her shoulder. “Against all odds, and with a little bit of divine intervention—which I’ll have to punish somehow later—”

“Normally I’d be all for that,” said the female Nephilim, grinning, “but seeing as what he did helped in the long run, AND he has to finish a report for me by next week, can we, I don’t know, maybe take a rain check on the whole “punishing Gabriel” thing?”

Lucifer smirked, his eyes surprised and amused. “Never thought I’d hear those words come out of your mouth,” he teased. 

Hecate rolled her eyes. “You and me both,” she muttered. 

Lucifer laughed. “Well, I suppose I can let it slide this time. Anyway, as I was saying—when you arrived, I was prepared to transport you to Heaven itself—”

“Oh, before or after I saved your ass from the Karx?” teased Hecate.

Lucifer gave her his sixth best withering stare, which got the point across without causing any tsunamis. “Very funny. Let me finish. I started to recite the incantations in my head when I felt the fear dramatically increase among the ghouls. Opening my eyes, I saw that not only had you rescued my limb” (Hecate smiled and pretended to act modest), “but the ghouls were staring at you with proper terror.” 

“No more so than usual,” shrugged the Celesterns nonchalantly. 

“But why be afraid at all, if they truly had the capability to destroy you like they did Lariat?” 

Hecate stared at him, then slowly smiled. Her pale, angular face lit up with mischief, relief and joy, so much so that her viridian eyes glimmered with small flecks of gold. “They were bluffing.” 

“They MIGHT be bluffing,” he corrected. “We still don’t know what happened to Lariat, which begs the next question.” Satan, Master of Lies, the Devil, Antithesis of Truth, the Morning Star, Bringer of Light, Evil Incarnate, Chaos, Mephistopheles, Lord of the Underworld, The Evil One, Trickster, Serpent, Fallen Angel, Mammon, etc then paused and bit his lip, looking rather frightened himself. “If the ghouls didn’t murder a Celestern, then who, or what, did?”

Hecate silently considered his words, heart hammering against her ribcage. Celesterns (half-demon and half-angel Nephilims) were, as far as everyone knew, indestructible. Neither Hellfire nor holy water could incinerate their souls, nor could any of the old standbys (silver, crucifixes, stakes, silver stakes, a crucifix comprised of two silver stakes, virgin salt, blood from a dead body, lightning, angelic steel, demonic bonedust, not even the Light or the Dark). Even if someone managed to decapitate a Celestern, the head would simply reattach to the body in milliseconds, faster than the time it would then take the occult creature to slit the offending party's throat. 

What, then, could have possibly murdered Lariat? 

“Maybe that wasn’t him,” Hecate offered. “Maybe the ghouls cut a demon's head off, added some angelic magic and—”

Lucifer shook his head slowly, eyes blank. “It’s him. I can tell.” He looked at her. “They couldn’t have replicated his scent.” 

Hecate groaned. “Fuck….” 

Satan, Master of Lies, the Devil, Antithesis of Truth, the Morning Star, Bringer of Light, Evil Incarnate, Chaos, Mephistopheles, Lord of the Underworld, The Evil One, Trickster, Serpent, Fallen Angel, Mammon, etc and his personal assistant mutely sat while the grandfather clock gently ticked behind them. 

When it chimed one o'clock (afternoon), Lucifer sighed, stood up and offered his light brown, masculine hand to Hecate. She took it with her much smaller pale one and stood as well, trying to decipher the cryptic look on her supervisor's handsome face. 

“You’re gonna hate me for this,” he said, cringing apologetically, “if you don’t already—but I did some research, and Minauros is actually the safest place for you right now, until we annihilate whatever threatens you and the other Celesterns.” 

Hecate raised a very sceptical eyebrow. “Really?” she asked dryly. “Fancy that…” 

Lucifer smiled sheepishly (well, as sheepish as Satan, Master of Lies, the Devil, Antithesis of Truth, the Morning Star, Bringer of Light, Evil Incarnate, Chaos, Mephistopheles, Lord of the Underworld, The Evil One, Trickster, Serpent, Fallen Angel, Mammon, etc could smile). “I know, I know. I’ll send you the info so you don’t have to take my incredibly flimsy word for it, but it’s precisely because it’s so undesirable, inaccessible to all but those with high security clearance and secluded that it really is perfect for you to remain for the time being.” 

Hecate rolled her eyes and groaned. “Ypu don’t have to send me the damn info,” she growled. “I can feel the truth in what you’re saying—as much as I wish my fucking radar was wrong for once,” she added bitterly. “I'll go back to the slums.” 

“At least you’ll be with Beezlebub!” offered Lucifer brightly. “Perhaps zey—”

“Yeah, speaking of zem,” interrupted Hecate, hands on her hips as she narrowed her gorgeous eyes slightly at the Devil, “remind me again why the FUCK you stationed your third-in-command in the poorest, most disgusting and crime-ridden corner of your nearly infinite kingdom?” She raised a long, elegant black eyebrow again. 

Satan, Master of Lies, the Devil, Antithesis of Truth, the Morning Star, Bringer of Light, Evil Incarnate, Chaos, Mephistopheles, Lord of the Underworld, The Evil One, Trickster, Serpent, Fallen Angel, Mammon, etc gulped, glanced at his watch and exclaimed rather hurriedly, “Oh, will you look at the time! I have a meeting in two minutes, and YOU, my dear, should be home packing!” He turned Hecate around and began guiding her toward the door, deaf to her protests. “Bring enough clothes, books etc to last at least a few months—”

“MONTHS?! Motherfucking—”

“—and please give everyone in Minauros my hatred,” he concluded as he opened the door and pushed her gently out of the room. “Call me when you get settled, I have to run. Ta-ra!” Lucifer flashed her his second most charming smile through a crack in the door, which he then shut and locked securely with an Unbreakable Charm.

“This isn’t over, you slimy bastard!” yelled Hecate from outside their shared space, pounding twice on the old wooden doors for dramatic effect. “While I’m in Minauros I’m getting Beezlebub transferred to Pandemonium if it’s the last thing I do, you evasive motherfucker!!”

Lucifer made no reply, but she knew he understood. He always did. Turning around, she saw the entire office (mostly comprised of well-dressed demons, with the occasional imp or poltergeist to fetch coffee or blood donuts) frozen in place and staring at her, phones half raised to waiting ears and papers half inserted into noisy shredders. 

Hecate smoothed her long black hair, straightened her cardigan and cleared her throat, cheeks slightly flushed. “Sorry for the interruption, everyone,” she said her best corporate voice. “Just a little—” 

“—disagreement with the Dark Lord again?” Chelsea, a pink, fashion-forward demon suggested cheekily, smirking at the embarrassed Celestern.

Hecate glared at her with stormy viridian irises. “Alright, here’s how the next few months are gonna go,” she announced in an authoritative, commanding voice, still glowering at the snarky demon. “I will be stationed in Minauros indefinitely, and you are not to visit me there. You can call, text, email, video chat, whatever—but do not leave Pandemonium to see me in person, no matter what.” 

Her staff began murmering anxiously. Hecate continued, “Everything is fine. I am fine. You are fine. The Dark Lord is fine. And most importantly, Hell is more than fine,” she assured them with a confident grin. “While I’m gone, Dormida will serve in my stead.” She gestured at the short, very curvy brown-haired demon, who looked both terrified and strangely exhilarated by her supervisor’s decision. 

“Once I leave headquarters in 3.75 minutes, Dormida is me,” continued Hecate sternly, looking at each of her staff. “You will treat her with as much--or quite a bit more—” Satan’s PA glanced at Chelsea, whose smirk vanished instantly, “--respect, integrity and professionalism you have me these many years.” 

Hecate then snapped her fingers and watched as her belongings soared through Lucifer's closed door and into her hands. “This changes nothing, I still expect the same incomparable dedication to defeating our celestial enemies and continuing Armageddon 2000. Please call me with your questions,” she added in response to the vast number of raised hands, mandibles and tentacles, “as I must leave immediately. I wish you all the best of luck.” 

Hecate hated, and therefore never participated in, goodbye rituals, so she just gazed with what may have been fondness or even slight admiration at her industrious, talented staff of over 30 secretaries, accountants, legal advisors, interns, salesfolk, quality assurance specialists and HR personel. She would miss them as individuals, of course—but most potently, she would miss their triple-digit IQs and basic competence. 

Hecate turned and was almost out the door before remembering something. “Oh, and Chelsea?” she added over her shoulder. 

“Yes, Sir?” asked the female-presenting demon in a slightly shaky voice, all bravado from earlier having disappeared. 

Hecate turned around, stared into her fuchsia irises with her flashing emerald ones, and intoned in a casual tone that implied darkness, “You’ll be performing Dormida's duties while she graciously covers for me.” She smiled at Dormida, who hasn’t moved an inch since her boss's earlier announcement. 

Chelsea frowned. “But that’s not fair! She feeds the Hellhounds and other gross….stuff. Im an accountant!” she insisted, as if it were the most crucial and sought-after position in Hell. “I do not care for filthy beasts like a—”

“If I were you, Miss Vaughn,” interrupted Hecate icily, “I would apologize profusely to your acting supervisor for describing her chosen profession, which I personally envy in many respects, in such a derogatory manner, instead of finishing what I assume was going to be an unintelligent but rather biting insult all the same.” 

Chelsea’s mouth opened to retort, then closed at the warning flash in Hecate’s eyes. She just looked down and mumbled, “Yes, Sir.” She turned to Dormida and said as offhand as she could get away with, “Sorry, Dory—didn’t mean to offend.”

Dormida nodded at Chelsea and replied with a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes. After the pink demon turned back around, Dormida glanced gratefully at Hecate and mouthed shyly, “Thank you, Sir.” 

Hecate nodded kindly to her, then strutted out of the room, heels clicking sharply on the marble floor. “I would also start thawing the crocodile hearts and turkey spleens for Cambodius, if I were you,” she called to Chelsea over her shoulder. “She likes them tender and bloody.”


	6. Workplace, Street, Cryptid Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hecate and Beezlebub discuss the former's situation. Beezlebub learns a new word. 
> 
> Trigger warnings: graphic/gross description of Minauros city at the beginning; references to sexual harassment, sexual assault/rape and attempted sexual assault/rape (all are referenced and discussed, do not occur in chapter)

Minauros is located near the third ring of Hell, approximately 17,000 shenkras (or 500 miles) from Pandemonium and a stone's throw from Dis. The entire city, which is only about 3,000 shenkras (roughly 89 square miles), is a dismal, dark and toxic swamp, with bubbling pools of murky raw sewage, crocodile-black widow spider hybrids and dense bayous filled with carnivorous plants that make Venus fly traps seem like dandelions. 

As such, most of it was uninhabitable, save for a stretch of high ground home to the seedy bars, outdated clubs and dilapidated casinos required in every major infernal region, as well as Minauros Branch of Hell, Inc. (Hecate had convinced Lucifer to incorporate in 1929 after the Wall Street Crash, which had in fact been primarily the humans' doing and only inadvertently Crowley’s, though he took full credit of course) rested, a behemoth of an office building over which lurked an ominous black rain cloud, weeping icy tears and striking unauthorized personnel (mostly thieves, celestial spies and Frank Sinatra) with 7,801 (almost 4 million volts) of electricity.

Needless to say, Hecate was less than thrilled about having to hide here, far from her luxurious studio apartment, reliable staff and frequent haunts (secluded jazz clubs, opera houses, art galleries, etc) in downtown Pandemonium, even if it was a matter of life and death. Well, rather immortality and total spiritual destruction, but to Hecate, whatever was out there killing Celesterns was now in far more danger than she. Once the Infernal Agency found the perpetrator, she would make them wish they’d never been created….

But, until then, Lucifer's PA had to quarantine herself in the filthy death swamp that was most definitely the slums of Hell (not to be confused with Stygia's newest and most exclusive club, “The Slums of Hell,” which was immaculately clean and dry). After packing clothes, electronics and books, Hecate snapped herself back to the Minauros Branch, where she explained to Lord Beezlebub her predicament. 

“Oh my Satan!” gasped the dark-haired prince. “Something’s out there killing Celesterns?” 

“Apparently,” shrugged Hecate, sipping her vodka. “Anyway, I’m sorry for the inconvenience, I know you have limited space here—”

“Don’t be daft!” cried Beezlebub, waving aside zeir ally’s apology. “Theres plenty of unused rooms here, we’ll find you an office ASAP! Until then, just miracle a desk in here and share mine.” 

“Oh, I couldn’t do that!” replied Heca frowning. “You need your own space! Besides, I’m an awful office mate, just ask Lucifer: I hum, whistle, sing, talk to myself, swear like a sailor—you’d go mad within an hour.” 

Beezlebub rolled zeir eyes. “Oh pleazze. Remember my previous office mate, Cornelius? Bastard smoked those foul cigars nonstop, that is when he wasn’t snoring like a buzzsaw under his desk or watching that ridiculous sport on the telly—forgot the name, but the male humans were non-fatally attacking each other and fighting to the death over a blasted piece of pig skin.”

“Ah yes, American football,” replied Hecate, nodding. “Lucifer is particularly pleased with how that’s turning out.” 

“Well it certainly kept Corny distracted from work,” muttered Beezlebub venomously. “I think it was just as well they couldn’t save him.” 

“Yes, I’m sure you do,” Hecate teased, smirking and folding her arms. “How did a female Santrapaz get loose and end up in his home again?” 

Beezlebub shrugged nervously and sipped zeir sweet wine, fidgeting slightly. “Dunno. Rumor is his bookies got sick of him not paying up and figured he was better off dead.” 

“Ah. I see,” intoned zeir ally, smiling knowingly. “Seems a little—I don’t know—extravagant for a shark murder, though. Don’t they normally just slit their victims' throats?” She raised an eyebrow, still smirking confidently at Beezkebub. 

The prince glanced shiftily about the spacious office before whispering anxiously, “Listen, I can’t afford another ticket. If they find out—”

“They won’t, don’t worry,” assured Hecate, winking. “I just wanted to know if I was right.” 

“You usually are,” admitted Beezlebub at a normal volume, smiling slightly and relaxing in zeir chair. “Anyway, point is that I don’t care what you do, so long as you don’t smoke, snore or scream at tiny two-dimensional figures with disproportionately large shoulders crashing into each other like battering rams.” 

“Deal,” replied Hecate, smiling broadly as she shook Beezlebub’s hand. “Alright, that’s settled; now I need you to recommend a good hotel. “Good” meaning it at least has indoor plumbing and locks on the doors.” 

Beezlebub bit zeir lip. “Um, yeah. About that—”

“Oh, and where’s your bank? I need to withdraw a couple hundred drakmas tonight.” 

Beezlebub sighed, brow furrowed worriedly. “Hecate, Im going to tell you something, and I need you to stay calm.” 

Hecate raised an eyebrow. “Ooookaaaaaay?” she said uncertainly. 

The Lord of the Flies took a large gulp of wine, wiped zeir mouth and said quickly, “The hotel collapsed due to a flood last month and the bank is now a bar.” 

Hecate blinked. “The hotel……flooded?” she repeated, raising both eyebrows. 

“Yes,” confirmed Beezlebub, watching her apprehensively as though she might bite zeir arm suddenly. 

“If I may ask, how does a hotel, or really anything for that matter, FLOOD in Hell?” Hecate asked, her voice increasing slightly in pitch and sharpness.

Her ally gulped. “It was, erm—complicated,” zey explained (for lack of a better word) lamely. 

Hecate opened her mouth to ask more, but thought better of it and just closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

“Ok. These things happen. So, the hotel collapsed.” She paused, then added aggressively, “But not JUST the hotel--the BANK, where Minaurosians are supposed to store and exchange MONEY, on which Hell's ECONOMY runs, is now a…….”

“Bar,” Beezkebub finished for her. “Called 'The Bloody Pit,’” I believe.” 

“Ah. Yes. Of course.” 

The two high-ranking Hellions sat in the uncomfortable silence known only by those who have delivered bad news reluctantly, and those realizing that their nightmarish reality is only about to get worse. Hecate ended the vigil by lowering her head onto the desk with a thump, clutching her wavy raven locks in both hands and muttering, “I am so royally fucked.” 

“I’m so sorry, Tee,” moaned Beezlebub, placing a diminutive hand on her shoulder. “I’d insist you stay with me, obviously, but I’m having my place defumigated—”

“Again?” said Hecate, raising her head. “That’s the third time this month!” 

“I know, the little buggers just won’t stay put! Maybe they want more fruit, or sugar water—anyway, it’s safe for ME, but the untrained cockroaches alone would tear your face off, so—"

Hecate smiled wearily. “Its fine, Bee. Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure something out—there MUST be a spare room here I can use tonight—”

Beezlebub blinked. “’Here?’ You mean 'here' as in this sopping wet house of cards?” 

“Well, it’s either that or the streets, Bee,” said Hecate, frowning and crossing her arms and legs. “So unless you know a friendly arachnodile with a spare nest, this is really my only option.” 

Beezlebub groaned. “Fine. You can stay here for ONE night. But if this turns into you living here so you can hide behind work again,” zey continued, pointing a threatening stubby finger at the executive assistant, “I swear to Satan I’ll tell Gabriel—”

“Bapupupupa!” interrupted Hecate, pretending to close Beezlebub’s mouth with her hands. “Don’t even go there. You made your point, I’ll be out by tomorrow.” She shook her head and grinned, exasperated. “Mammon, you’re picky. Cornelius lacks off too much, I’m a workaholic—are you never satisfied, Bee?”

The Lord of the Flies gave her a withering look. “Very funny. And you ARE a workaholic, Your Royal Disgrace.” 

Hecate glared at her, eyes flashing dangerously. “Technically, I should harvest your livers for that,” she said icily, the corners of her ruby lips twitching upward in spite of herself. 

Beezlebub just rolled zeir eyes, picked up zeir landline phone and began dialing. “Well, you’re welcome to them,” zey murmured casually. “Its not like they won’t grow back immediately.” 

“Fuck,” hissed Hecate to herself. “I forgot about that. See,” she continued, hands out as if pleading as stopped dialing Beezlebub to smirk at her, “why the fucking fuck couldn’t I get THAT power instead of the whole holy water thing, orrrrrr…Attraction! Yes, why couldn’t I get Regeneration instead of useless, irksome fucking Attraction?” 

Beezlebub half grimaced, half sneered. “Yeah, it must be sheer agony, everyone fawning over your beauty and grace, worshipping the ground your perfect feet walk upon. I know I, for one, thank Satan everyday that instead of being gorgeous and desirable, my dismembered body parts and organs grow back like I’m fucking Prometheus.” 

Hecate rolled her eyes, crossed her long arms and leaned back in her chair as Beezlebub punched in a few more digits with more force than necessary. “You WOULD thank him if you had Attraction for a bit,” she muttered, eyes glaring out the window, “even just a day. Arrogant demons thinking they can buy you with wine and jewelry--strangers on the bus undressing you with their eyes—tens of thousands, no, MILLIONS, of marriage proposals, as well as less decent propositions, over 6,000 years, none of them from people or beings for whom you felt even a SPARK of desire—THAT’S Attraction,” Hecate spat, her hands clenched so tightly her nails pierced her skin. “THAT’S what they don’t tell you when they say it’s great, the best power, the ultimate weapon. If it really was a weapon,” she added in a threatening, low voice, “I would have used it to destroy everything by now.” 

Beezlebub, who had stopped dialing around “jewelry,” hung up the phone, stood up, walked around zeir large desk to Hecate and embraced her tightly. “Im sorry,” zey murmured in a cracked voice. “I’m so stupid, I shouldn’t have—”

“Its fine, Bee,” Hecate assured zem, warmly hugging zeir petite frame. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad—I just wanted you to know it’s not really all it’s cracked up to be, in the end.” 

“It sounds awful,” her ally muttered thickly, arms gripping her tall frame protectively. 

Hecate chuckled. “Not awful. Just useless and annoying, like I said.” She paused, then added hastily, “No one's ever HURT or VIOLATED me, you know. When they start to get too aggressive, I just burn 'em with Hellfire or holy water. Or punch them in the nose,” she added thoughtfully. “I’ve found that everything has some sort of nose, and it always hurts and bleeds so spectacularly just with a simple jab.” 

Now it was Beezlebub’s turn to laugh. The allies released each other, the Prince of Hell sniffling and wiping zeir eyes roughly. Tactfully, Hecate turned and began preparing her half of the office, snapping a desk, black wingback chair, rubbish bin and several more bottles of alcohol into existence as her ally phoned the person zey had unsuccessfully reached before. 

“Yes, this is Lord Beezlebub. I need a listing on all available apartments and other dwellings in the area,” zey said, shuffling some moss green papers on zeir desk. “Ideal choice would be a studio near the office, with full amenities and freedom to expand via demonic intervention.” 

Hecate smiled. Funny how angels said “miracles,” while demons said “snapping” or “demonic intervention,” but they were both the same thing: powers granted to them by God that allowed them to alter reality in almost any way, from insignificant (disappearing a nasty ketchup stain) to magnanimous (saving lives, healing, smiting/destroying each other, etc). 

“Get this information to me by tomorrow morning,” continued Beezlebub, skimming one of the papers and frowning. “Thanks, Kyle. Talk to you then.” Zey hung up. “Alright, Tee. You can spend the night here tonight, but we’re gonna find you a permanent space by tomorrow, yes?”

“Groovy,” replied Hecate as she surveyed her workspace. “Is the shredder too much?” When her ally didn’t answer, Hecate turned around and saw the confused look on zeir face. 

“’Groovy?” repeated Beezlebub. “What is that, Kavarkian?” 

Hecate laughed. “No, it’s English, human lingo. New word, means ‘sounds good.’”

Beezlebub stared at her blankly. “That’s fucking stupid.” 

“Yes it is,” she agreed conversationally. “Everyone’s pretty high up there, no one’s making any sense. We’re gonna have to detox, like, 5,400 souls in a week or so.”

The prince groaned. “I hate the 70s," zey whined.

Hecate nodded. “Me too. We’re working on it,” she assured her consternated ally, who nodded but still looked perturbed. “Until 1980, help me decide: ficus or small palm tree in the corner?”

“Definitely ficus,” replied Beezlebub immediately. “My new termites will eat the tree in less than 0.24 seconds. Hey, can you do a cactus for me, after?” zey asked eagerly. “You’re better at manifesting nature than I am.” 

Hecate smiled broadly. “Anything for my temporary office mate slash sort-of landlord,” she replied, snapping a lush ficus in existence on one side of the ponderous room and a 7-foot Saguaro with 5-inch long sharp needles on the other.


	7. A Room of One's Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Lucifer *sort of* stops by to ensure Hecate's new office is up to snuff, they discuss the past and inadvertently reveal their shared humanity. Beezlebub has shocking news. 
> 
> Trigger warning: explicit description of violence and death in the last paragraph

“…..and anything else you find. I need it by tomorrow morning, alright? Thanks, Gina—oh, and tell Grandview he needs to fire 3 employees by Thursday…..no, no more excuses,” said Hecate firmly into her cellphone, held in place with her shoulder and right ear as she typed furiously on her laptop. “If the yellow bastard can’t stand up to a few juvenile werewolves, he can move his ass back to Dread Forest and start selling fake amulets again…..yes, you can tell him I said that. Alright, thanks Gina. Bye.” 

Hecate hung up the phone, sighed as she set it down and skimmed over her letter to Pollution, asking for help in combatting the damned hippies' Environmental campaign. 

“Sir! Sir, this just came for you.” A breathless imp scurried into Hecate’s new office and handed her a small, triangular package. “They said be extremely careful, and don’t smoke within ten volsters of it,” he warned, fidgeting with his hairy green tie. One volster is equivalent to 8 inches, or a woman’s dismembered hand. 

“Thanks, Curtap,” chirped Hecate, flipping him a protag (about $5). 

“Thank YOU, Sir!” cried the imp, bowing low and skipping happily out of the room. 

“Satan, this thing better work,” muttered Hecate as she carefully tore into the brown paper with long, beautifully manicured nails. “Alright, here we go.” She picked up the small black triangle enclosed in the paper, set it in the center of her large mahogany desk and muttered something in Enochian. 

The triangle glowed bright red, vibrated and hovered a few inches. 

“Contact Lucifer Morningstar,” said Hecate to the device, clearly enunciating each syllable. 

“One moment please,” said the object in a calm, low voice. It then proceeded to vibrate quickly and emit a red light that resolved itself into the shape of her boss. 

“Hey there,” the life-size holographic version of Lucifer greeted Hecate cheerfully, holding up a hand and tucking the other into his pocket. “I see you got my Transfibrulator.” 

“Yes, thank you,” replied his XO, rising and moving around her desk to stand in front of the apparition, “although I still don’t see why we couldn’t do this over video chat.” 

“You know I can’t get an accurate read on your space through video chat,” explained Lucifer, smirking slightly. “I need to make sure it’s fitting of my second-in-command.” 

Hecate groaned. “You’re such a freak, Luce. You’re fine with me coming to Minauros, literally the worst place EVER, yet you need to make sure I have enough room to email memos and draft letters,” she complained, staring up in exasperation at the Devil. 

“AND furlough people,” Lucifer added, his russet eyes twinkling mischievously. “Don’t forget that. Speaking of which, have you spoken to—”

“No, not yet,” sighed Hecate wearily, rolling her eyes. “Were supposed to meet at 2, although I wouldn’t put it past him to skip out again. The bastard kept rescheduling, claimed his roof caved in and he had to wait for the repair demon—as if I wasn’t painfully aware that he was homeless after gambling away not just the company’s money, but his own real estate assets, six months ago!” 

Lucifer nodded. “I see. Well, good luck. I hear he’s a crier, so get the Kleenex ready.” 

“Bloody Hell, I hate the fucking criers,” muttered Hecate forcefully, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes. “Why can’t we just shoot bad employees like we used to?”

“Unions,” replied Lucifer simply with a sad smile, nodding and patting her shoulder sympathetically (given his incorporeal status, it was more like his hand passing slightly through her shoulder up and down a few times; however, while Hecate felt nothing physically, she appreciated the gesture). “Anyway, let’s have a look at your new office!”

“TEMPORARY office,” Hecate corrected him with a stern look. “Either in terms of me returning to Pan after you catch that creep, or me ending up in one of our maximum security prisons for eviscerating everyone here except Beezlebub, both of which are equally likely at this point.” 

Lucifer laughed heartily. “Point taken, my dear, although prison wouldn’t be an option due to your immunity.” 

“Oh yeah. I forgot I can destroy whoever I want without consequences.” Hecate smiled slightly and perked up a bit.

Lucifer eyed her warily. “I didn’t say that, I meant—oh wait, you’re joking, right?” he added when she started laughing.

“Of course I am, you numbskull,” snickered Hecate, shaking her head. “Geez! You claim to have invented sarcasm, but you’re remarkably awful at recognizing it……” 

Lucifer rolled his eyes but grinned good-naturedly. “Oh hush. Anyway, back to the point.” He placed both hands on (or slightly inside) Hecate’s strong shoulders (again, she couldn’t feel his warm hands but had a vivid imagination), soberly gazing into her face. “Don’t worry, this is indeed temporary. How could I possibly survive without you nearby?” he cried dramatically, smiling broadly and throwing his arms up hopelessly. 

Hecate rolled her emerald eyes, leaned so that so left hip stuck out slightly and crossed her long arms. “Yeah, where was that attitude when ghouls attacked our capital and you responded by sending me miles away to babysit Hell's least competent demons?” she challenged, raising one long black eyebrow. 

Lucifer cleared his throat loudly. “Anyway, your office looks nice,” he said brightly, looking around at everything but his secretary’s annoyed expression. She just rolled her eyes and sighed as he continued, “Plenty of space for emailing, drafting and firing, wouldn’t you say? Does smell a bit musty, though,” he admitted, wrinkling his nose. “Kind of like a……dusty……corpse…?” 

“Yes, that’s the fragrance I was going for,” drawled Hecate, sitting on her desk and crossing her legs. “Believe me, this is an immense improvement over the pungent slaughterhouse aroma of fresh blood and spoiled innards permeating this room two days ago. Ill take “dusty corpse” over that stench any day.” 

Lucifer grimaced. “Were those your only two options?”

“Well,” replied Hecate thoughtfully, “I suppose I could have also shot for “wet asbestos,” seeing as I’m basically in Hell's flooded basement—speaking of which, did you know that the only hotel here flooded?”

Lucifer furrowed his brow. “What?”

“Yeah. Apparently it happens all the time, according to Bee. And their bank is now a casino!”

Satan shook his head. “Hang on, back up. If the hotel’s……flooded, for what reason I cannot fathom…..then, where are you staying?”

“Oh, I got an apartment close by; Bee's secretary found it for me,” explained the dark-haired Celestern. “A little studio just big enough for me and my books.” 

“Good,” sighed Lucifer, relaxing a bit. “I was worried you were camping out under your desk again.” 

Hecate glowered at him. “K, first of all, that was thirty years ago. Second, I only did that cuz our Doomsday machine was on the fritz and someone needed to babysit it 24/7. Third, you’ve fallen asleep at YOUR desk more times than Fibonacci could count, so if you really want to go there—”

“I don’t,” laughed Lucifer, holding up his hands in surrender. In spite of herself, Hecate’s dark expression softened into an amused smile as she watched her ruby red holographic boss wipe tears from his eyes and chuckle a few more times. 

“Well, if you’re satisfied with your loyal subject's TEMPORARY workspace, m'lord,” she began, moving briskly back behind her large wooden desk, “perhaps we can both get back to work?”

“Yes, yes. Thank you for indulging me, Hecate,” he smiled charmingly and a bit apologetically. “You seem to have created a nice little Eden for yourself in the midst of the worst Hellion city, as I knew you would.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say EDEN,” she argued, looking around her large but gloomy and indeed slightly moldy concrete room. “Not that I saw the real one, mind you, but I heard it was a bit more lush and spacious.” 

“Oh, it was,” replied Lucifer wistfully. “Definitely one of my favorite places to create, before the Fall—as well as perhaps my greatest success.” 

Hecate smiled. “You’ve said that before—do you mean in terms of original sin, or the natural beauty of the Garden?”

Lucifer looked down at her thoughtfully. Hecate wished he was here in person, so she could glimpse the brilliant spark of celestial genius still burning in his warm reddish eyes, particularly when he spoke of his time as God's highest seraphim. As it was, his expression and eyes remained nearly inscrutable save for a flash of pain and guilt across his features.

Shaking his head and waving the bad memories aside like so much dust and fodder, Satan replied good-naturedly, “A bit of both, I suppose—everyone, especially—well, everyone seemed pleased with the way it turned out. I was glad they got to enjoy themselves a bit before the whole apple thing.” He shrugged and waved his hand dismissively, as if “the whole apple thing” referred to someone accidentally biting into a slightly sour fruit instead of losing their immortality and committing the first sin. 

Hecate nodded. “I understand,” she said softly, knowing this was not the time for teasing. 

Lucifer stared blankly ahead for a few beats, then blinked a few times and tried to laugh it all off. “And of course,” he added in his lower, more charming and overall less authentic voice that stung Hecate’s heart (cold and conflicted as it was) ever so slightly, “how could the fall of humanity and the origin of that by which we make our living, as it were, not literally be my greatest success?” 

His voice was hearty and confident, but his eyes weren’t; even via holographic imagery, Hecate sensed his insecurity and doubt, the needle of terror and guilt that pricked him when he least expected it. 

Hecate hesitated, biting her lip, then replied impulsively, “Of course, my Lord. Tempting the humans was indeed the best decision at the time, as it led to the creation of sin and our currency with humanity. Besides,” she added brightly, growing in confidence when Lucifer looked up at her, “what is virtue without sin, good without evil, pure without corrupt? You don’t know the good until you’ve experienced the bad, after all. And Heaven wouldn’t be nearly as popular if Hell wasn’t the alternative.” 

The devil stared at his XO for a few seconds, during which Hecate tried to figure out if she believed what she’d just said. Probably not, as her stomach was twisting in painful knots, but that could also be Lucifer's penetrating gaze trying to decipher the same thing. Hecate braced herself not for his wrath nor punishment, not even his slight disappointment at her oh-so obvious ambiguity; but for his subsequent self-hatred and terror inspired by even HER lack of devotion to evil, by the lonely life he created for himself post-Great Fall. 

“I appreciate your wisdom, Hecate,” Lucifer murmured. Hecate anxiously searched his eyes for the inner fear she knew always lurked just under his skin, but saw none: only affection and kindness emanated from the devil's holographic, almond-shaped eyes. Her stomach relaxed and she exhaled, not realizing until then that she was holding her breath. 

“I know you don’t—I mean, I appreciate your loyalty, but, well,” he continued nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “You ARE half angel, after all—half SERAPHIM, actually, sorry—so I just, I mean, I know and it’s okay that you don’t fully buy into the whole “Hell is right” thing—”

Hecate rolled her eyes but smiled in spite of herself. “Lucifer, we’ve had this conversation exactly 13,568 times since you hired me in 35 AD. And while I appreciate your acceptance of my…..conflicted views, let’s say,” she continued, face crinkling as she tried to think of the right words, “I still firmly believe Hell is better than Heaven. Our cause is truly righteous, because it encourages humans to utilize their free will while justly punishing those who violate natural laws. “Much better than Heaven’s “holier-than-thou, let’s all be perfect, you can’t get in unless you’re a virgin martyr” spiel.” 

Lucifer grinned handsomely. Emboldened, Hecate playfully finished, “Say what you will about Hell, but at least we’re inclusive: all ages, races, creeds, genders etc welcome!”

Satan chuckled warmly, and Hecate reveled in the sound. Her supervisor’s true laugh (as opposed to his maniacal cackle, sinister chuckle, thunderous scoff, etc) was friendly, soothing, like a cup of warm chamomile tea sliding down her throat and heating her body from the inside out. He really only laughed spontaneously and naturally around her, so no one else would ever understand this, but one of Hecate’s favorite sounds in the whole universe (and this included The Eagles' Hotel California and German death metal) was the devil's laughter. 

“It is at that,” replied Lucifer, hands on his hips as he shook his head in amazement at Hecate. “You know, for the daughter of a Prince of Hell and a Seraphim, neither of whom had an ounce of humor in their souls, you’re remarkably witty, my dear.” 

Hecate pretended to blush and hid behind her hands as she bent her legs slightly, batted her thick black eyelashes and drawled in a thick American southern accent, “Oh you old snake charmer you! It’s the silver tongue of the devil you’ve got, shameless flatterer!” 

Lucifer rolled his eyes but grinned and snickered a bit in spite of himself. “I’ve been called worse,” he replied airily, checking his wristwatch. “Ah crap, I’ve got that meeting in two minutes—sorry to run, Tee, but thanks for letting me annoy you for the last--” he checked his watch again, “—twenty-six minutes and thirteen seconds.” 

“And not a minute less,” replied Hecate, leaning back in her chair and crossing her slender arms. “Good luck with the Urbans.” 

“Thanks. Good luck with Henderson.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me. Bye.” 

“Ta-ra!”

Red holographic Lucifer Morningstar disappeared, and the Transfibrulator gently lowered itself onto Hecate’s desk. She sighed contentedly; printed out her letter to Pollution on thick, decadently creamy paper and stuck it in a huge envelope sure to still be around post-Apocalypse and delivered it to them via carrier raven; and was just mentally preparing herself to deal with an emotionally unstable, soon-to-be ex employee demon when Beezlebub burst into her office, flies buzzing madly around zeir sweaty face. 

“”What the—” began Hecate, staring at her frazzled ally in alarm. 

“No time—to explain!” gasped Beezlebub. Zeir dark eyes bulged like--well, rather like a insect—and zeir large hat had fallen off, revealing messy dark brown hair plastered with sweat to zeir olive-skinned brow. “Couldn’t—snap over—had to run—”

“What the fuck is going on, Bee?!” cried a distressed Hecate, running to the prince and grabbing zeir shoulders firmly as zeir legs wobbled. 

Beezlebub took a few choking breath and clutched zeir heart. It had been quite a few centuries—alright, two milleniums—since zey had physically exerted zemselves beyond walking to and from zeir office and the break room, and would have been longer if Dagon hadn’t phoned the royal demon frantically from outside the monolithic building. 

“Something’s happened,” the Lord of the Flies wheezed once zey caught zeir breath, grasping Hecate’s arms tightly and eyes still wide with terror. “Dagon phoned from the south entrance—she was crying hysterically, I couldn’t understand a word until she screamed at the guards not to touch the bodies.” 

Hecate frowned. “Bodies?” she repeated, nonplussed. “You mean, like dead ones? Why would Dagon care—”

“It’s the Peregrine clan,” hissed Beelzebub in an uncharacteristically high voice. “The oldest Celesterns--Xero, Danis, even Valishe--they’re all destroyed, decapitated heads impaled on s-spikes—the rest of their bodies…..mutilated beyond recognition.”


	8. Desperate Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hecate and Beezlebub learn what's behind the Celestern murders. She reluctantly contacts someone on the inside who may be able to *unwittingly* help. Mr. Henderson gets fired.

Frozen bile began rising in Hecate’s throat, burning her with its icy intensity. She swallowed and tried to speak, but no words left her ruby lips. 

Beezlebub took another shuddering inhale. “Dagon—Dagon said they—whatever motherfucker did this, I mean--left a note, she sent it to me.” Zey pulled out a wrinkled bit of parchment from zeir pinstripe jacket pocket with shaking hands. Looking up tentatively at Hecate’s face, which was so white and still it could have been sculpted from ice, zey held it out to her and stammered, “I-its addressed to you, Hecate. I can’t understand it, some kind of ghoulish gibberish probably, but—"

Mechanically, Satan’s secretary took the note and skimmed it with cold emerald eyes filled with……terror? Fury? Panic? Confusion? Grief? Beezlebub had no idea, but zey shut up so zeir ally could process and hopefully decipher the cryptid letter in silence.

“Written in blood, I presume,” Hecate remarked in a shockingly calm tone. Beezlebub didn’t reply. 

“Well, that’s that then.” Hecate placed the note on her desk, snapped a bottle of vodka and two glasses into existence and poured a generous amount for both of them. 

“That’s—what?” frowned the prince, very confused. “You mean you could read that? What language is it?” 

“Old Enochian,” replied Hecate, handing Beezlebub a glass filled with strong spirits. “Used exclusively by Seraphims prior to the fall. The language my mother spoke.” The tall woman then downed her drink in one go, wiped her mouth and poured herself another, all very methodically.

“Wow,” whispered Beezlebub. “So, what did it say, then?”

Hecate took another drink (only half the glass this time), then pondered her ally’s question as she swirled the rest of it around. “It's hard to translate directly, but I suppose you could say the note goes something like this.” She picked up the parchment and began translating as best she could.

“To Princess Hecate nee Honor, High Priestess of Hell, Satan's executive assistant and second-in-command, daughter of the seraphim Lux and demonic prince of Hell Asmodeus (Prince of Lust): 

You cannot escape us. You are an abomination, spawned from evil and deceit, and deserve to rot as all your kind does. We know how to destroy you now. Nowhere is safe. There will be no forgiveness. 

Blood is spilt, so it floweth.” 

Beezlebub glanced in horror from the note to her ally, who was now nursing her third glass of hard liquor. “What does it mean, Tee?! Who sent it?! What the HEAVEN is going on?!” Zey were hysterical now, practically yelling. 

Hecate sipped her third drink slowly, closing her eyes to savor the heat and numbness spreading throughout her mind and body. Beezlebub began to think she hadn’t heard zeir pleas until Hecate set the glass down, looked up at zem with serious viridian pools and replied darkly, “What the Heaven indeed.” 

Beezlebub’s brow furrowed deeper in confusion until Hecate’s meaning dawned on zem. “Oh my dear lord Satan,” Zey whispered into zeir hands. “You can’t mean—”

“Yes,” seethed Hecate, fury and terror undulating just beneath her placid exterior, threatening to burst forth and dominate. “Apparently, destroying my father wasn’t enough for the Seraphims—they now feel the need to eradicate me as well, and are eagerly proving they’ve discovered how to do just that,” she explained grimly, her eyes beginning to glow menacingly. 

“B-but the Dark Lord said you’d be safe here—”

“As much as he fancies himself so, the Dark Lord is not Omniscient,” interrupted the Celestern briskly. “Nor is he Omnipotent—although officially he has achieved that status, so please don’t repeat any of this—meaning he can’t protect me from the seraphims sufficiently, even if he stuffed me in a little bunker like Hitler.” 

Beezlebub’s olive skin turned deathly white as Hecate explained her situation. “What are you going to do?” zey asked, already fearing whatever the answer would be.

“What any self-respecting, independent, powerful supernatural entity would do in my position,” replied Hecate, whipping out her sleek smart phone and scrolling through her billions (yes, billions) of contacts. “Ah, here we go.” She pushed a button to call one of the many, then brought the ringing phone to her ear. 

“Which is….?” Said Beezlebub, squinting zeir eyes suspiciously at zeir ally’s nonchalance.

“Call Gabriel in hysterics, pretend we know nothing about the note or the seraphims and beg for his help, of course!” replied Hecate matter-of-factly with a good-natured grin. 

“Yes, this is Hecate calling for Archangel Gabriel,” she said into the phone, calmly examining her nails. “That’s fine, take your time.” Hecate then muted her phone and Beezlebub watched as zeir ally screwed up her face in agony and voluntarily hyperventilated in preparation for Gabriel to answer. 

As soon as his eager, deep voice greeted her cheerfully, the show began.

“Oh Gabriel, I’m so sorry to bother you!” Beezlebub rolled her eyes and chuckled in spite of zemselves at Hecate’s extreme change in demeanor: one minute dark, sarcastic, confident and commanding; the next, light, breathy, girlish, desperate, pleading. Classic damsel-in-distress was by FAR Hecate’s least favorite method of trickery, but desperate times and all that. 

And judging by the excessive concern and gentleness in Gabriel's tone, it was working like a charm. 

“Something TERRIBLE has happened here, and I really don’t know what to do!” Hecate continued in her high-pitched, hysterical-but-not-quite-crazy voice, her face now like an angelically innocent china doll with doe eyes and full pouting lips. Beezlebub groaned, placed zeir head on Hecate’s desk and covered zeir ears with zeir hands at such a disgusting display of passivity.

Hecate's innocent façade temporarily lifted so she could flip off and shoot a very dirty look at the Lord of the Flies, which made the latter feel a bit better about the whole thing. 

“Yes, there’s been some random killings here, and we don’t—Hello?” she added in her normal tone. “Hello? Gabriel, are you—the sonofabitch hung up on me!” exclaimed Hecate, setting her phone down aggressively. “What kind of self-absorbed—”

Before Beezlebub could hear the probably quite unflattering noun accompanying that sentence, a flash of brilliant white light once again temporarily blinded them both. 

“Fucking fuck!!” yelled Hecate, covering her face. 

“Run, Hecate!! It’s the Seraphims!!” screamed Beezlebub, belly crawling across the concrete floor towards her ally's voice. “You gotta go!! I’ll fight ‘em off, just run!”

“What’s going on here?”

The Lord of the Flies and Hecate froze, then simultaneously turned toward the deep male voice that had just spoken. 

Hecate removed her hands from her face and tried to blink her eyes open. After a few seconds, less recovery time than last week, she saw Archangel Gabriel standing in front of them in a dashing eggshell white suit, moderately clear but still a bit blurry around the edges.

She looked around. No flaming Seraphim appeared to have accompanied him, nor would they ever stoop so low as to appear in human guise, so she sighed in relief and picked up Beezlebub from the floor. 

“Its just Gabriel,” she whispered in zeir ear. “Don’t mention Seraphims again or the note, got it?”

Beezlebub nodded, squinting like a mole unceremoniously removed from its underground labyrinth and forced to face the brilliant noon sun aggressively beaming down on its irate little face. Hecate sat zem gingerly down on her faux leather wingback chair, where zey proceeded to blink and rub zeir sore eyes until Gabriel's shining form became considerably less fuzzy. 

“Do you really have to make such a dramatic entrance every time you come down here?” the Prince of Gluttony grumbled at the strapping, nonplussed angel. “How would YOU like it if we, I don’t know….ripped out your angelic tongues upon entering Heaven?”

Gabriel grimaced. “What are you—”

“’Cuz that’s basically what you do to us whenever you materialize down here!” yelled Beezlebub, standing up and glaring at the now frankly terrified archangel. “You remove one of our senses, so we can’t see! How about we remove your tongues so you can’t TALK?! HUH?! HOW BOUT THAT, MR. ARCHANGEL?!” 

No one said a word as Lord Beezlebub glared daggers at Gabriel, whose pupils were contracted to mere dots. Hecate, frowning and glancing between the two inhuman beings, finally asked the prince as kindly and softly as she could, “Why…tongues though, Bee? Why not just snap away their—”

“I DON’T KNOW!” growled the prince. “Forgive me for not coming up with a proportionate response when there are three dismembered Celesterns on the south lawns, one of whom could have been you, alright?!” Zeir dark eyes filled with tears as zey gazed desperately into Hecate’s emerald orbs. “I can’t lose you, too,” zey whispered, trying to blink away the fear. 

Hecate hugged zeir ally tightly. “You won’t,” she hissed back fiercely. “I promise.” 

“THREE DEAD CELESTERNS ARE ON YOUR SOUTH LAWN?!” 

Hecate and Beezlebub jolted at the thunderous noise. Hecate glanced left sheepishly, having forgotten that the archangel was present. “Sorry Gabriel, we—”

“AND YOU DIDN’T IMMEDIATELY TELL ME THAT?!” he shouted again, not angrily but effectively. Hecate noted that his handsome face appeared shocked and horrified at the situation rather than furious at their negligence, so she took advantage and plunged ahead with her plan. 

“Yes, and we have no idea what to do!” Hecate cried helplessly, launching herself at Gabriel and pretending to cry into his broad, muscular chest. He hesitated for a second, then encircled her with his strong arms, repeated what he thought were soothing phrases and rubbed her upper back gently.

Hecate grimaced. They hadn’t been this close since he used himself as an human(ish) shield to protect her from what turned out to be a squirrel during their first time in North America. Hecate had hated the embrace then, as stupidly gallant as his intentions genuinely had been, but she detested it even more now that she had initiating it by running into his arms like a damn Disney princess.

“Oh Gabriel, you have to help me!” Satan's PA cried, pushing him away slightly so she could gaze desperately into his weird purple eyes. “I didn’t know you could even HARM a Celestern, let alone—” she pretended to be too overcome with emotion to continue. 

“Its alright, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I’m here,” he cooed, lightly smoothing her hair back as she once again hid in his chest and allowed fake sobs to wrack her body. Hecate’s beautiful features rearranged to beautifully reveal her irritation at his arrogance and general Gabriel-ness and she fought the urge to vomit. Oh, those Seraphims were going to pay through their eyeteeth for this……

“I know!” Hecate chirped suddenly, looking up at the tall archangel with a pretty smile and excited eyes. Gabriel looked surprised at her unexpected change in demeanor, but Hecate didn’t care: she was unable to stomach being so close to Gabriel for more than a few minutes (standing within 5 feet of him was challenging enough on a good day). “Why don’t we show you the bodies? You’re so intelligent and powerful, you’ll probably know right away what’s causing this!”

Gabriel blushed and tried to look modest, which was hard for him to do while the gorgeous female in his arms gazed up at him with such apparent adoration and reverence. “Well, of course I’ll take a look, but—”

“Great!” interrupted Beezlebub, who was having zeir own difficulties viewing the nauseating scene before zem. “Lets go, I think Dagon’s still there with the guards.” 

“Perfect,” agreed Hecate in a business-like manner, expertly disentangling herself from Gabriel’s embrace and straightening her pantsuit. Gabriel looked shocked and quite a bit put out by her sudden lack of interest in him, but he tried to shrug it off with a simple, “Um, h-how long have they--the bodies, that is--been there, Lord Beezlebub?”

“Dagon thinks at least 5 hours, based on the smell,” yawned the prince, standing up and snapping zeir unruly hair into compliance. “Thank Satan the Hell hounds hadn’t found the carcasses yet, hopefully that’s still the case.” 

“From your mouth to Satan's ear,” replied Hecate earnestly. “Anyway, shall we?” 

“Yes, but I suppose we should walk,” drawled Beezlebub, sneering unpleasantly at Gabriel, “him not knowing where the south lawns are and all.” 

Gabriel bristled as only as archangel can. “I should think I’m perfectly capable of sensing—”

“Um, Sir?”

“Yes?” replied Hecate, Gabriel and Beezlebub simultaneously, turning towards the now open door to see a small imp nervously shaking with a clipboard.

“High Priestess Hecate, I mean,” clarified the imp. “Sorry to intrude, Sir, but Mr. Henderson is here for your 2 o’clock meeting, Sir.” 

“Oh, fucking Hell!” muttered Hecate viciously, rolling her eyes toward her companions. “I forgot about that bastard, just a mo.” She turned back to the imp and said with genuine kindness, “Thanks, Raquel—tell him to come in please.” 

“Yes, Sir.” Raquel bowed and scampered away. 

“What’s this then?” asked Beezlebub crossly, hands on zeir hips. 

“You know, Hecate,” said Gabriel softly, moving a bit closer as though trying to recreate the sudden intimacy that was so 2 minutes ago, “if you have a meeting, we can just come back—”

“Don’t be stupid, just give me a sec!” Hecate frowned at him like he’d lost his mind and turned back to the doorway as a short, pudgy demon with frostbitten blue skin and alarmingly green hair entered her office. “Ah, Mr. Henderson! So glad you could finally drop in!” 

“Yes, I’m terribly sorry about rescheduling so many times,” began the demon in a high, nervous voice as Hecate walked up to him like a cheetah stalking a warthog. 

“Oh, think nothing of it!” cried Hecate charmingly, trying to put her prey at ease. “Anyway, I was gonna do a whole thing leading up to this about how much success you brought the company over the years—actively spreading the Black Plague, all the possessions during the 18th century, your incomparable dedication during WWII, etc—but let’s just cut to the chase.” 

Hecate replaced her cheerful expression with her “I-will-devour-your-dreams” look. “You, Godric Henderson, stole from the company, i.e. Hell, i.e. Satan himself, so you are, as of—” Hecate checked her phone, “—2:03pm today, fired from Hell, Inc. Please report to the sixth circle tomorrow and every day for the next....400 years to receive your punishment. Thank you.”

Normally she’d wait much longer before ripping out the jugular, but once again, desperate times….

As tears welled up in Mr. Henderson’s eyes, Hecate decided they’d better skip the walking and just drag Gabriel along via demonic transportation, aka snapping. With the swiftness of one terrified of others’ passionate displays of emotions, Hecate grabbed Beezlebub’s hand and linked her arm through Gabriel’s before snapping the three of them to the south lawns, AKA safety.

Well, relative safety. 

Well, perhaps at least crying-unrelated danger.


	9. Clues and Family Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel is unexpectedly helpful. Lucifer arrives to find that Hecate called the archangel instead of him to help her solve the case. Will all hell break loose? EDITED so that it connects with Chapter 8 more fluidly (in my opinion)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays and Happy New Year! I'm sorry I haven't updated for a while, I've been procrastinating, then focusing on "Ineffable," which is almost finished! Enjoy and please comment! 
> 
> Edit: "Ineffable" now finished. Coming soon: "Ineffably Yours!" 
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Graphic descriptions of blood, viscera, corpses, lots of body horror, strong language, referenced violence, death

As soon as Hecate, Gabriel and Beezlebub materialized in the south lawns courtyard, the scent of rotting flesh and sweat mingled with blood overwhelmed them, so much so that the putrid fumes stung their eyes.

“Oh my fucking fuck!” gasped Hecate, squeezing her eyes tightly and pressing her perfectly ironed jacket against her assaulted mouth and nostrils. She had mentally prepared herself to view the mangled bodies of former Celesterns but wished she had done so physically with an Olfactory-Suppressant spell and goggles as well.

“Oh, cobe on, dob be duch a wuss!” Beezlebub, nose pinched shut, chastised Gabriel, who had taken one look at the carnage surrounding them before vomiting what appeared to be discolored water onto the blood-stained grass.

“Well you can’t really blame him,” said Hecate’s muffled voice to the Lord of the Flies, blinking her eyes open to adjust to the toxic air. “It’s a bloody horrid sight, between the severed heads with gouged-out eyes and various viscera strewn about the lawn. Oh, look at that,” she continued with bored eyes, pointing across the courtyard. “They’ve strung the intestines in the trees like human fairy lights!”

Beezlebub scoffed and tentatively opened zeir dark eyes as well. “Nothig you or I haved seed beforeg,” zey grumbled with a plugged nose, glaring in disgust at the archangel who was now retching fruitlessly like a haggard rabbit. “Rather tabe cobpared to dat club in Dis, would’d you say?”

“Nah, you’re comparing apples and oranges,” replied Hecate, shaking her head and walking over to Gabriel. “Sure, the clowns were creepy as fuck, but at least they didn’t smell like an overheated slaughterhouse. Hey, Gabe,” she continued in a slightly softer tone, laying a hand on his back. “Let’s chill out, okay? We gotta look at the bodies to figure out what happened.”

As soon as the tall Celestern touched the archangel, his nausea vanished and he sighed in relief. “Oh thank God,” he sighed in relief, straightening up with eyes closed, breathing deeply. “That’s better.”

“Thank _Hecate_ , more like,” snapped Beezlebub, who had released zeir nose to begin acclimating to the acrid stench. “I should have your head for invoking the enemy’s name in our realm.”

“Just let it go, Bee,” sighed Hecate with exasperation before Gabriel could reply. “There’s been enough decapitations today, let’s deal with one massacre before starting another, m’kay?”

The Lord of the Flies grumbled zeir ascension. Gabriel stared horrified at the carnage before them: three decapitated craniums with expressions of pure agony stared back at them from the top of three-foot tall wooden spikes, the faces orifices’ leaking coagulated black blood. Scarlet, hemoglobin-drenched body parts and organs, mutilated beyond recognition, littered the lawn like a vulture’s buffet, which indeed it would have been if Dagon hadn’t placed a Protective Charm around the lawn in the nick of time.

“What in _God’s_ name happened here?” Gabriel cringed with enormous disgust while blinking rapidly from the powerful fumes.

“One more profanity, _Cupid_ ,” warned Beezlebub, who only came up to Gabriel’s elbow but had no qualms about bearing up at him with a threatening grimy finger, “and you’ll be joining those poor bastards on the lawn, capisce?!”

“Bee!” snapped Hecate, throwing her ally a sharp look with dangerously flashing emerald eyes. Lord Beezlebub groaned and rolled zeir eyes at her in exasperation, mouthed “Fine!” and kicked Gabriel’s shin before joining Satan’s XO near the decapitated heads. All things considered it wasn’t a particularly damaging kick, especially since the archangel’s celestial aura was such a powerful guard against infernal violence, and he certainly wasn’t going to show any weakness in front of Hecate, but Gabriel still involuntarily winced as the Lord of the Flies pointy black boot made contact with the bruise-able skin of his corporation, much to the latter’s satisfaction.

“And to answer your question,” Hecate replied icily to the archangel, who gritted his teeth and tried to look undisturbed by his leg as she addressed him, “nothing in the Almighty’s name happened here, Gabriel. Someone, or rather some _thing_ , is brutally murdering Celesterns, at least four so far. These are the latest victims.” She gestured at the carnage before them.

Gabriel frowned and walked up to stand beside her and Lord Beezlebub. “But I thought nothing could destroy—”

“So did we,” admitted the high priestess grimly, glaring at a pile of viscera not five feet away, “until Lucifer received a package containing a noted Celesternal prince’s head not days hence.”

Gabriel gaped at her in horror. “That’s awful! Does he have any idea who—”

“Yes, of course,” retorted Hecate annoyedly, glaring at him and hoping he couldn’t sense she was lying. “He has many suspects, it’ll just take a bit to figure out exactly who—”

“You know, Heaven works with Celesterns as well,” Gabriel interrupted her, giving her a meaningful look and pointing a long finger at her. “Lucifer really should have contacted us himself, seeing as this monster could escape Hell and—”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Hecate lied again, forcing herself to smile charmingly. Gabriel blinked at her in surprise and slowly lowered his hand. “Which is exactly why I called you myself, to get your _expert_ opinion on how to handle these _devastating_ circumstances, Your Grace.” She batted her eyelashes and tilted her head slightly to bolster the effect of her deception.

“Well….” Gabriel blushed, scratching the back of his head and casting his gaze downwards, grinning bashfully. “You know I’m always here if you— _Hell_ , if _Hell_ \--needs protection from--well—that’s my job as Heavenly Liaison and an archangel, after all—”

“Of _course_ ,” purred Hecate, moving slightly closer but not too close to the angel and widening her eyes to suggest guilelessness. “And you’re _sooo_ good at your jobs, Your Divine—”

Gabriel cleared his throat and tugged at his shirt color a bit, his face turning red. “You know you don’t have to call me those things, Hecate—they’re just—ahem—silly titles—” he mumbled, glancing around nervously but stepping closer to the high priestess nonetheless.

“I apologize.” Hecate stepped back a few feet, lessened her charms significantly and bowed her head, though she kept the pleasing smile on her face. “I forgot you dislike the formality. Anyway!” she said in her usual brisk, no-nonsense tone, clapping her hands together and turning back toward the ravaged lawns as Gabriel blinked and shook his head to clear it. “Whoever figures out how these sons of bitches died first gets a week on Pluto, company’s treat!”

“You cleared that with the Dark Lord?” Beezlebub asked, eyeing Hecate suspiciously. Satan’s personal assistant shrugged, replied, “He doesn’t know what I do with half our funds anyway,” and bent down to examine the tortured expressions on the three skulls as if they were paintings in an art gallery. “So, what do you think?”

Her ally frowned at the horrifying display and leaned as close as zey could get without vomiting from the stench. “I never thought I’d see Valishe frightened,” zey observed, considering the disembodied cranium with long, lanky black hair, matching anchor facial hair and burgundy irises. “I didn’t even know he knew how to make that particular expression.”

“I think it just comes naturally when one is faced with such a fate,” offered Hecate. “Instincts and all.”

“Hmm.”

“Not to be—well, _morbid_ \--” began Gabriel hesitantly, nose wrinkled in disgust at a head with thick brown curls and eyes as violet as his own.

“Oh, I believe the good ship _Morbidity_ has _long_ since departed,” replied Hecate casually, holding her hand only inches from Xero’s crooked nose. “We’re not squeamish, anyway. What do you notice?”

Gabriel gulped, then tore his eyes from his doppelganger to gesture vaguely at the assorted blood, organs and bodily fluids strewn about the lawn. “Well, it’s just—why did they have to use such dirty weapons?”

Hecate and Beezlebub jerked their heads toward him simultaneously, twin frowns of confusion gracing their features. “Pardon?” asked Hecate, raising her eyebrows. “Dirty weapons? How can you even—”

“There’s traces of soil all over the-- _ugh,_ _viscera_ \--but especially here, at the base of the neck,” he choked, pointing shakily at the brutally hacked-off skin and veins hanging limply below the purple-eyed Celestern’s chin. “It’s not that noticeable, I can really only sense it because it’s consecrated—”

“Consecrated?” repeated the two Hellish officials, who then gaped at each other.

“Oh my Satan—” breathed Beezlebub.

“You mean holy ground, like from a church or graveyard?” clarified Hecate to Gabriel eagerly.

“Yes, something like that—I don’t know how they snuck it into your realm, but that’s definitely holy,” replied Gabriel, pointing again at the bloody base of the head with more confidence.

Hecate frowned at the other two heads, then asked, “Is it the same for Xero and Danis?”

Gabriel cringed, then reluctantly examined the remaining necks for celestial residue. “Yes, there’s even more on this one’s—”

“Vampires!” Hecate hissed excitedly at Beezlebub, grabbing zeir shoulders and leaning down to face the prince. “They’re the only beings here who can legally possess soil from their respective burial sites, AND they’ve been pissed at me since I restricted the amount and types of mortals upon which they can feed. It all makes sense!!!”

Beezlebub’s frowned deepened and zey shook zeir head in profound bemusement. “WHAT all makes sense?! Even if it was vampires—which it wasn’t, coz they work much cleaner than this—”

“Not if the--" Hecate glanced around anxiously at Gabriel, who was looking at the two Hellish leaders curiously "--you know, the--the beings we were discussing earlier--" She gave Beezlebub a meaningful look.

"Ah, yes," interrupted the prince of Hell, nodding and looking up as understanding dawned upon zeir olive-toned face. "Of course the--um, S-ser-serpents."

Hecate stared at zem blankly. "Really? 'Serpents?'" she mouthed with exasperation, frowning. Beezlebub shrugged defensively and crossed zeir arms. Hecate shook her head to clear it and continued, "Ok, um, yeah, sure. The... _serpents_ somehow convinced the vampires to kill Xero, Valishe, Danis and possibly Lariat with weapons sullied--well, not sullied, more like purified--by consecrated church ground from the vampires' graves, which they keep in their coffins here."

Lord Beezlebub blinked. "But why? Why would they help the--serpents?" zey asked, nervously glancing back at Gabriel who unbeknownst to her was inching closer and definitely eavesdropping. 

Hecate opened her mouth confidently, then looked up, thought for a minute and sighed, "I don't know. That's--yeah, no clue. But!" she added, holding up a finger as her verdant eyes sparkled, "But, at least we know which groups are behind it, and how they're doing it. The rest we'll just figure out along the way. Now, we need to contact--"

“Whoa, whoa, back up,” interject Gabriel, only a foot behind the pair now. “We know how they’re doing it? All we know is there’s consecrated soil here! What’s that got to do with—”

“Yes, I’m rather curious about that myself,” interrupted a low, seductive baritone, “if you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

Beezlebub quickly turned around, gasped loudly, saluted sharply and then bowed and closed zeir eyes reverently at the mysterious visitor. Gabriel glared at said intruder with the hatred he normally reserved for humans, unfolded his ponderous white wings and stood tall and erect, his hands itching to smite the foul fiend.

Hecate, on the other hand, simply cringed, muttered “Damn it to Heaven,” under her breath and turned around slowly to face the figure, guilt and anxiety churning in her stomach.

“Hey there, Luce,” she muttered, waving and grinning half-heartedly at Satan, who smirked at the scene before him, head tilted slightly in amusement at Gabriel’s reaction. When Hecate spoke to him, his smile widened but it did not reach his eyes, which remained dark and foreboding.

“Hello, my dear,” he replied charmingly, eyes narrowing slightly. “Dagon just informed me of the Celesternal assassinations, so naturally I Transported here straightaway—only to find that you have all the help you need already!” he exclaimed in a cheerful tone, gesturing at the fuming archangel. Lucifer smiled toothily between him and Hecate, who sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Okay, look,” she began, walking towards him carefully. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you when I found out—you’d just left, you had that meeting—”

“We’ll discuss it later, Hecate,” Satan interrupted firmly, glancing at her sternly but not unkindly. She sighed and nodded, the guilt in her belly now spreading to the rest of her corporation.

“At ease, Lord Beezlebub,” he remarked to his third-in-command, who looked up and turned around to see Hecate looking distraught, Gabriel ready for battle and the Dark Lord calm as a cucumber.

“I see nothing wrong with Hecate contacting the Heavenly Liaison for assistance in this situation,” interjected Gabriel in his most arrogant, corporate, CEO, holier-than-thou tone, gazing at the Devil with blatant superiority and loathing.

Lucifer blinked with mild interest at his brother’s territorial posture and energy. “Nor do I, Archangel Gabriel,” he replied silkily, lilting each syllable of the angel’s name. “I have complete faith in my executive officer, and never question her judgement, especially regarding those whose council she seeks in her quest to strengthen and protect her homeland.” He paused, glaring and fuming at Gabriel in a more passive way then the latter, but still quite palpably as his fiery aura threatened to overpower the angel’s dome-like one.

“What I _do_ question, Archangel Gabriel,” Lucifer continued, russet eyes beginning to glow red as curvaceous, sensual black wings unfurled behind him ominously, “is your tendency to insert your influence where it doesn’t belong, even to Hecate’s detriment—”

“Okaaaaay!” interrupted the high priestess loudly, moving forward and putting up her hands. “Let’s just---take a short break and—”

“What exactly are you implying, _Murderer_?” snapped Gabriel, now gripping a flaming sword at his right, violet eyes ablaze.

Hecate winced and glared at the archangel. Lucifer had many names, most of which puzzled, amused or faintly annoyed him, but “Murderer,” used to describe him in John 8:44, was by far his least favorite. Hecate knew why, and her heart ached for him as his estranged sibling lashed him with it across the face.

However Satan felt about Gabriel’s words, his face remained remarkably neutral; he simply grinned, chuckled warmly and replied, “Oh, I don’t think I’m implying anything, dear brother. I believe my meaning is quite clear: that, had anything happened to Hecate during our battle with Ghulheim, your pristine hands would be forever drenched in her blood, as well as your own after I finished with you—”

“Lucifer!” Hecate hissed angrily, walking toward him. “Stop this right now—”

“—and yet, here you are again, O Divine One,” continued Lucifer coldly as if Hecate wasn’t present, “allowing my second-in-command, most trusted advisor and, dare I say it, _closest ally_ ,” he hissed, eyes glowing brighter with each word, “to return to the scene at which not one, but THREE of her Celesternal brethren were slain in cold blood by the same maniac who threatened her life in Pandemonium?!”

“Oh COME ON, how SEXist can you GET?!” scoffed Hecate, which distracted the male-shaped beings enough for them to stop glaring at each other and stare at the tall female in shock. “’Allowed me to return,’ Lucifer? Really? Like I’m the proverbial damsel in distress? I thought we both agreed that trope was idiotic!”

“We did!” cried Lucifer, quickly putting his wings away and toning his eyes back down to their usual warm russet. “That’s not you at all! What I meant was—”

“And if my blood’s gonna be on _anyone’s_ hands,” she continued loudly, pointing to her chest and advancing on the devil (who took a few clumsy steps backward in response), “it’ll be because I put it there myself before sacrificing them to Sol during our Moonstone rituals, got that?”

Lucifer sighed and nodded forlornly. “Of course,” he mumbled, kicking a bloodstained pebble with his immaculate black shoes. “I apologize for flying off the handle, you are anything BUT the Damsel in Distress.” He grinned up at her hopefully.

“Thank you,” replied Hecate primly, smiling back. She paused and bit her lip. “I’m sorry I contacted Gabriel and not you,” she murmured, playing with a stick in her fingers and moving closer so that only he could hear her. “I was scared you’d put me in—I don’t know--a titanium box or something if I told you there were three mutilated Celesterns right outside the Minauros branch.” She looked up from her hands into his eyes. “I thought if I could fix it—”

“Hide it,” Lucifer corrected her with a look.

Hecate rolled her eyes. “Yes, fine, hide it—then I could at least stay in the real world, with the real people and fresh….ish..air, and work and booze and work and phones and movies and work and---”

“Hecate,” Satan interrupted her, placing his strong brown hands on her shoulders gently and gazing intensely into her conflicted green irises. “I am so sorry for making you feel trapped,” he said firmly, focusing on her completely. Hecate stared back into his gorgeous russet orbs, losing herself in the clay red streams. “I want you to be safe, but that, as you’ve remarked so eloquently—” he grinned with affection “—is ‘my damn problem, not yours.’”

He paused and looked up thoughtfully. “I still don’t agree that your safety is ‘none of my fucking _business,_ ’” he admitted with a shrug, eliciting a giggle from Hecate, “but I can help you stay safe in ways that actually respect your boundaries, instead of—f-frighten or—imprison you.” Lucifer could barely say the last few words; while stuttering and spitting them out, he bowed his beautiful head, clenched his jaw, swallowed hard and closed his eyes tightly.

Hecate sighed. “I know,” she replied gently, peaking under his face to catch his eye. “It’s okay, Luce, I’m sorry that—”

“Nope,” he sniffed, raising his face and smiling down at her through rich eyes filled with a few clear tears. “You did nothing wrong. I’m the overprotective, paranoid psychopathic bad guy here. As usual,” he added with a laugh that didn’t quite reach his sad eyes.

Hecate shook her head. “You may be an overprotective and paranoid psychopath,” she admitted, miracling his tears away so he could save face in front of Gabriel and Beezlebub, “but you’re not the bad guy, Lucifer. You never are.”

Lucifier quickly turned around and snapped his fingers several times in front of his face, which didn’t surprise his executive officer. Sniffling slightly, he turned around and grinned crookedly at Hecate, tearless at least for now. “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“No, this is,” Hecate smirked, jerking her thumb at the archangel, who had also retracted his wings and dimmed his eyes but kept the sword to swing around lazily while she and Lucifer conversed. “We gotta thank your bro for helping me crack the case.”

Satan’s eyes widened. “What?!” he gasped. “You mean, you figured it out?! You know who—”

“I know who and why,” she confessed, holding up a hand, “and about—eh, 36%--of the how—but that still leaves a good 73% to solve, let alone how we actually STOP the motherfuckers.”

Lucifer shrugged his broad shoulders nonchalantly. “We’ll burn that bridge when we get there,” he replied casually, smiling very boyishly. Hecate rolled her eyes. “Besides, the rest of that’s just details—and you know what they say about details?” He raised his eyebrows and grinned slyly.

Hecate groaned and buried her face in her pale hands. “Don’t do this, please don’t do this, you’re better than this Luce don’t—”

“They’re where I live!” Satan finished with a demonic grin, throwing his hands up and cackling triumphantly as Hecate groaned louder and covered her ears. “Ha ha! No one can dethrone me as the Punmaster!”

“No one wants to,” grumbled Hecate, which only caused Lucifer to laugh harder. She rolled her eyes yet smiled despite herself as he snickered like a child, clutching his firm stomach and closing his eyes, just allowing himself to be happy. For once.

“Not to bust your bubble,” Hecate said testily after a few minutes of purposeless fun, “but in the spirit of maintaining subpar diplomatic relations with Heaven, we should BOTH go over and thank wank-wings for his contribution.”

That very effectively removed any desires to laugh from Lucifer’s system. Straightening his suit and frowning, he glared over at his estranged brother and hissed, “What exactly was his contribution, noting who made the corpse’s dress shirts?”

Hecate shook her head. “He sensed consecrated soil on the organs and severed necks, which led me to suspect vampires, specifically the Harvesti clan that opposed my measure to limit mortal slayings.”

Lucifer blinked. “Oh,” he replied, shuffling his feet. “That’s pretty helpful, actually—”

“Yes it was.”

“Probably something only a Celestial being would notice, as well—”

“Quite.”

He grinned at her sheepishly. “Good thing you called him then,” he admitted weakly, giving Hecate a thumbs-up.

Hecate closed her eyes and bowed her head graciously. “I appreciate that. Hey, Bee!” she called to her right. Lord Beezlebub hurried over. “Let’s go thank the ass hat before he takes out his eye with that thing. GABE! HEY GABE! YOU CAN’T—DON’T TRY TO KILL THOSE, THEY—oh for Mammon’s sake, they’ve carried him off. Ugh, be right back!”

As Hecate unfurled her huge, gorgeous silvery gray wings and flew after the Night Gaunt carrying the archangel wielding his flaming sword like a baby shaking a rattle, Lucifer frowned down at Lord Beezlebub and remarked, “Do you think she’s right, about the Harvesti clan? That’s it’s not something else, I mean? Something worse?”

Beezlebub stared up at zeir Dark Lord and bit zeir lip nervously, then resumed watching Hecate shriek at the bird in its fluent tongue that the man-shaped being would taste terribly overcooked to her hatchlings. “To be frank, My Lord, there is a bit more than that,” zey confessed as the high priestess removed the sword from Gabriel’s hand and miracled it presumably back to Heaven before he could do more damage with it. "But I think Hecate should tell you herself, if you don't mind me saying so, Your Lowness."

"Ah," replied Satan curtly, bowing his head and staring at a pulverized heart. "I see. Thank you, I shall convene with her after this."

The Hellish Prince cringed at the barely concealed horror in his deep voice, then added hopefully, "If I may, Your Disgrace: She’s destroyed nightmares than most beings, myself included, couldn't even fathom, so I’m much more inclined to view Hecate as the predator and those...... _abominations_ \--" zeir voice cracked furiously "--her rather unfortunate prey.”

“Hmm,” intoned the Devil thoughtfully, gazing upwards with the Lord of the Flies as Hecate flew with the archangel back to the south lawn, shouting something about leaving Hell's protected species alone. “I’m inclined to agree with you, Lord Beezlebub.”


	10. Elementary, my dear Morningstar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at their office in Pandemonium, Hecate and Lucifer discuss alcohol consumption, Earth elements and the Celestern murders

Hecate sat on the edge of her desk, kicked off her black stilettos and stared thoughtfully at the bulletin board she’d set up in her and Lucifer’s office to help her keep track of clues concerning the Celestern murders. The corkboard was dominated primarily by photographs of the macabre South Lawn crime scene, the victims before and after mutilation, the six surviving members of the Harvesti clan[1] and possible Seraph suspects (not so much photos as mediocre sketches of puffballs covered in eyes and wings, each labeled with a different name), as well as a few scribbled notes about consecrated soil, possible weapons used to decapitate the Celesterns, Hecate’s note from the Seraphim, etc.

“All it needs is some red string criss-crossing everywhere and we’ll officially be obsessed,” the dark-haired beauty teased Lucifer, who was behind his desk near hers drafting a message to the current president of Somewhere Else. He glanced up at Hecate over his reading glasses, which technically he didn’t need but enjoyed wearing sometimes, smirked and replied, “There are worse things than your and your species’ safety to be obsessed about, my dear.”

Hecate felt a warm, uncomfortable blush spread across her cheeks and looked away. “Thank you,” she murmured awkwardly. She waited until she heard her boss typing again before returning her gaze to the board. After a few minutes of staring from the sickly gray, emaciated and cynical visages of Thetis, Grange, Blanche, Zorba, Logan and Andora[2] to Hecate’s unflattering interpretations of Emeliel, Graciel, Zedeliadel, Aldariel and Mariel[3] without any new ideas as to why the latter would enlist the former to exterminate Celestial Infernals, the high priestess groaned, slid off her desk and walked over on white dancer’s feet to the bar.

“Want a drink?” she asked Satan as she poured herself a tall glass of Spiritus Rektyfikowany. “They just restocked the absinthe—”

“Ummm, sure, thanks.” Lucifer closed his sleek laptop, yawned and stretched his leanly muscular arms, shoulders and torso. “Any Everclear left?”

“Let me che—uh, nope. Just a sad empty bottle—wait, make that bottle _s_.”

“Oh that’s right,” said Lucifer hastily, glancing nervously from side to side. “Uh, never mind, alcohol’s bad, let’s just skip it—”

“Hang on, why the hell are there so many—six, seven, ei—what the fuck?! Lucifer Morningstar,” cried Hecate, rounding on the cringing, terrified demon with blazing fury in her emerald eyes, “did you drink ten bottles of Everclear--"

“There was a party—” Lucifer offered weakly.

“—two of that Sunset Rum you _insisted_ was too sweet—”

“Well, it kind of grows on one—”

“—and a whopping _15_ bottles of Bacardi?!” Hecate finished, crossing her arms and glaring with anger, confusion and pity at her boss.

Lucifer stood up from his desk and joined her at the bar. “Hey, in my defense,” he began, pointing at the bottles littering the bottom of the liquor cabinet, “the Bacardi were those tiny buggers we put in the minibars and charge humans a fortune for, and it was really more like one-and- _a-half_ of the rum.”

Hecate raised one eyebrow slowly. “And the Everclear?” she asked icily.

Satan blinked, looked down and gulped. “Yeah, that’s—ten sounds pretty accurate,” he confessed, blushing slightly. Hecate rolled her eyes and groaned loudly but couldn’t help laughing at her supervisor’s antics.

“What the fuck happened?!” she chuckled, shaking her head. “I was only gone for a week—surely things weren’t _that_ bad—”

“They weren’t-- _terrible_ ,” admitted Lucifer reluctantly, “but not nearly as fun as when you’re here.” He shrugged and grinned nervously down at the raised eyebrows and wide eyes on his XO’s face. “Things got done, but it was so godawful boring I wanted to kill myself!”

Hecate blinked, then scoffed and tried to look annoyed, but couldn’t keep a very flattered smile off her full red lips. “Well, first of all, I don’t think alcohol poisoning is a viable suicide option for you,” she teased in a gentler tone. “Second, I’m not fun; I’m a catalyst for drama, catastrophe and mayhem. There’s a difference.”

“All synonyms for fun in my book,” shrugged Lucifer with a wide grin.

Hecate rolled her eyes. “Yes, the Satanic Bible, I’m well aware—third, you’re lucky things were boring here!” she argued, frowning up into his russet eyes but still smiling slightly. “Do you know how stressful my week in Minauros was?! Between constantly leaking pipes ruining crucial documents, huge creatures skittering about—I’m talking three-foot long rats, birdlike moths and millipedes longer and thicker than boa constrictors—and, oh yes, the great South Lawn Massacre of 1972! Not to mention daily power outages, the most ludicrous interpersonal conflicts you can imagine and—”

“Okay, okay! I concede!” laughed Lucifer, holding up both hands in surrender. “You had it way worse, I had no right to drink my sorrows away while you were suffering in Hell’s basement.” He stopped smiling and looked down at her guiltily. “I’m so sorry for putting you in harm’s way—”

“Nope, no more apologies,” Hecate interrupted breezily, grinning and grabbing her 20-ounce glass of vodka before guiding him toward the investigatory board. “You did nothing wrong and I’m perfectly safe—anyway, I want your opinion on something.” She took a drink and pointed at something she’d scrawled on a yellow Post-it.

Lucifer smiled affectionately down at Hecate when she wasn’t looking, then read the note. “’Celesternal deaths and elements: fire, water, earth, air,’” he read, then raised an eyebrow at his XO.

“So, Celesterns can create and utilize holy water and Hellfire, right?” Hecate began. “And because of that, neither can kill us, even if used together?”

Lucifer nodded. “As I recall, the Extermination council even tried using water cursed in Hell and fire blessed in Heaven—in effect, unholy water and Heaven fire, the opposite of what Celesterns create—but this proved just as ineffective.”

“Not only was it ineffective,” added Hecate, raising a finger and looking up at Satan with wide, intelligent eyes, “it even strengthened many Celesterns’ relationship with fire and water, thus allowing them to cause more damage with said elements than before.” Lucifer raised his black eyebrows in shock.

“Anyway,” continued Hecate, taking another sip of her drink before turning back to the chaotic, “hunting for a serial killer”-esque board and pointing at a close-up of a messily hacked-off neck, “since our killers mutilated Danis and his brothers with weapons coated with consecrated soil, or earth, it suggests to me that, while fire and water cannot destroy us, earth and air can. Or manipulations of it, anyway,” she added, setting her drink down on her desk and returning to the board. “Probably a celestial and infernal version of each. Therefore, if the murderers used holy ground—”

“--they would have needed damned air,” Lucifer muttered, carefully examining the South Lawn photos and rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“Exactly. And what better place to access unceasingly damned air than Hell itself?” replied Hecate cheerfully. “It would have been easier for the Seraphim to commit the murders themselves on Earth, but air circulates continuously up there and it would have been virtually impossible to keep holy or infernal air contained in a vacuum the whole time.”

“True,” agreed Lucifer, glancing at and cocking his head toward her, “and they certainly couldn’t kidnap those powerful bastards, Transport them to Heaven and do the deed there—technically possible, but much too risky. Imagine if anyone found out they viciously inhumed four law-abiding Celesterns, in Heaven itself!”

Hecate glowered at her caricatures of the Seraphim and shook her head. “No, the Seraphim could have. They just wanted to pin it on Hell. All those psychos would have had to say is that Valishe and the others broke into Heaven and attacked with Hellfire or something. That it was just self-defense.” She roughly grabbed the poly-winged and-eyed flaming entity labeled “Mariel” from the board, glared at it with a dangerous intensity, ripped it five times and incinerated the shreds before they could hit the floor. “And Hell forbid the Almighty _deign_ to intervene and set the story straight…”

The high priestess closed her eyes and crossed her arms defensively over her chest, willing her tears to vanish like the scraps of paper that once displayed the vile Seraph. “Shit,” she hissed when they inevitably didn’t and leaked out between tightly closed lids, slid down her flushed cheeks and fell onto the black hardwood floor.

“Hey,” said a soft male voice next to her. She opened her eyes, and saw a beautifully sculpted, strong hand and besuited arm reaching out to her. She took Lucifer’s warm hand and allowed him to guide her over to a black suede armchair he just snapped into existence. When she’d sat down, he asked in that same soft, tentative baritone, “Can I get you anything? A new drink, perhaps?”

Hecate leaned back against the soft cushions, looked at Lucifer’s concerned expression and tried to smile. “No, I’d better not,” she replied thickly, snapping her fingers to stop the crying and congestion. “I’m sorry Luce, I know I shouldn’t let this get personal—”

“But how could you _not_ , Hecate?” he implored, frowning deeper and sitting across from her on a plain wooden chair that appeared in that moment. “After what happened to your father, there’s no way this wouldn’t be the most personal, painful and torturous process for you.” He clenched his fists and looked down, but Hecate still saw his eyes gleam blood red for a few seconds before he closed them, took a deep breath and continued. “It’s one thing to be cast out and demonized for daring to oppose Her—it’s another to lose a loved one at the hands of beings supposedly composed of light, love and forgiveness.” He looked up at her with a pained expression. “I cannot imagine the tremendous grief you carry, nor how you feel now as they poor salt on your wounds.” He looked away roughly again, closing his eyes and seething like an enraged dragon.

Hecate took a deep breath and looked down at her long, pale fingers. “Thank you, Lucifer,” she said softly, playing with the shiny obsidian buttons on her blazer. “I appreciate all of that, and you should know that—well, your grief certainly isn’t any less than mine.” He looked over at her with raised eyebrows. Hecate shrugged and half-grinned. “It’s simply different. Our pain is our pain, no more and no less. The important thing is what we do with it.”

She sniffled, then stood up, walked over to her desk and grabbed some Post-its. “I want to keep my Celestern kin and Hellion subjects safe from Heaven’s tyranny and bloodlust, and it’ll be a lot easier if I don’t get upset every time I see their names.” She scribbled on the note, then stuck it to the board. Lucifer got up and saw it was another drawing of a Seraph, only much more accurate: still many wings and eyes, but surrounding a fiery core emanating Rays of Light. Under the uncaricatured angel was “Mariel,” written carefully and unmistakably in onyx ink.

The large and impeccably shiny amber grandfather clock in the back center of Hecate and Lucifer’s ponderous office chimed four measures of Chopin’s Funeral March followed by a few echoing bongs.

“Is it 2am already?” exclaimed Lucifer incredulously, rubbing his eyes and staring at the clock as if he couldn’t possibly be seeing it properly. “We should get home—I’m sorry for keeping you so late—”

“Luce, _I’m_ the one who kept _you_ here late,” Hecate corrected him with a smirk, slipping her black fitted jacket over her shoulders and sitting down to reattach her stilettos. “I said you needed to finish that letter to President !jkt%^ TONIGHT, so we could send it with the morning post. Is it done?”

“Done and ready for its journey,” replied Lucifer, handing her a creamy envelope bearing his royal seal[4] and containing a folded piece of paper. “And I believe your exact words were, ‘Luce, if you try to leave tonight before finishing that goddamn letter, I’ll do it myself using your blood, skin and sharpened bones as writing tools.”

Hecate shrugged nonchalantly as she strapped her left heel on. “Pretty tame threat, considering how late the letter is and my increased hatred of incompetence after my luxurious stay at the Minauros resort and spa,” she replied breezily, standing and placing the letter into her black leather briefcase.

“And yet, still carrying your trademark creativity,” added Lucifer with an amused grin as he returned the remaining vodka in her tall glass to the bottle, closed the bar and gathered his own dark briefcase and bottle green coat with an elegant twirl of his left hand.

“Well, it wouldn’t be an effective threat if it wasn’t creative,” Hecate pointed out with laughing eyes, and Lucifer nodded in concession before opening the large oak door for her. After they had both left, he locked the room with a snap and joined Hecate by the Hellevators.[5]

“Wait, who’s interrogating the Harvesti sisters tonight again?” asked Hecate as they waited for the machines to reach them on the 666 floor. “Is it Thameil or Kubris?”

“Both,” replied Lucifer as the Hellevator dinged. He gestured for her to step inside first, then joined her and pushed the L button. “I was going to just send one, but last time they worked together the suspect cracked in—what was it, 3 minutes?”

“Two and a half, I think.” Hecate grinned. “Yeah, good call; those two’ve developed a refined good cop/bad cop routine over the years that yields quick and fruitful results.”

Lucifer looked down at his XO and frowned. “Which is which?”

Hecate gave him an exasperated smile. “Well, Kubris is bad cop, obviously! Between the muscles, tattoos and that gnarly scar over their fifth eye—”

“Yeah, but Thameil’s scarier!” argued Lucifer. “Kubris is a gentle giant, barely speaks above a whisper! How do they—”

“Thamiel can be scarily polite, too,” Hecate informed him as the elevator doors opened. “She just lets her silver tongue lull the suspects into a false sense of security, then calls in Kubris—who, yes, says nothing for obvious reasons—and is all like, ‘Well, maybe you’d feel more comfortable confiding in my partner”—which usually precedes a hasty but still quite accurate confession.”

“Hmm,” Lucifer mused as they walked across the gleaming glass lobby and into the warm night air. Two artificial moons shone in the dark, starless sky, one bloodred and the other pale blue. Lucifer and Hecate strolled up to their reserved parking spots in front of the lot, where a cherry red Ferrari sat next to a shiny black Porsche. “What’s on the docket for tomorrow?”

Hecate and Lucifer snapped their fingers, and their driver’s doors opened simultaneously. “Well, you’ve got that meeting in the Ninth circle about new torture devices, which should take all day—”

“Really? Oh for fu—those are so boring!” complained Lucifer, rolling his eyes and leaning wearily against his flawless crimson vehicle.

Hecate grinned wryly. “Yes, well, if you’d rather meet your darling brother in some London bookshop for the quarterly Liaison review,” she replied testily, hands on her hips, “be my guest. Otherwise, count your curses you won’t be stuck in Soho for at least six hours—knowing Gabriel he’ll stretch it to eight—discussing unrealistic peace terms with Michael and Uriel, listening to Sandalphon brag about his greatest smitings—I’ve killed more people than he’s ever met, the arrogant bastard—and pretending to give a damn about Gabriel’s newest clothing or footwear acquisition.”

Lucifer whistled loo and tsked sympathetically. “That is pretty bad—how do you stomach those four imbeciles anyway?”

Hecate shrugged. “Michael and Uriel aren’t so much imbeciles as vicious cutthroats masquerading as corporate drones, which I respect—and I find visualizing a cursedly silent Gabriel hanging with one of his violet neckties as the noose from the top of Big Ben while Sandy watches helplessly down below as a pillar of salt quite soothing while one or the other is prattling on,” she explained with a bright smile.

“Interesting,” remarked Lucifer, cocking his head curiously before sliding into his car. “I’ll try something similar with the Head Torturers tomorrow. Thanks for the tip!”

“Always happy to help.” Hecate got into her own black vehicle, followed her boss to the exit and waved jovially before turning left as he turned right.

[1] it is common knowledge everywhere but in certain Earth locations that vampires not only capture their likenesses using cameras as frequently as not, they also consume garlic, spend as much time in the sun as they like and enter others’ abodes without an invitation

[2] Four sisters and two brothers (Grange and Logan) of the Harvesti Vampire clan

[3] Five of the highest ranking Seraphim, two of whom Hecate has met personally

[4] The royal seal of the House of Lucifer consists of the devil’s unique sigil stamped into what most assume is hot red wax, but are never entirely sure isn’t a more nauseating and nefarious substance, which is why everyone hates receiving mail from him

[5] Honestly, the same elevators you’d see on Earth, nothing especially demonic about them except flickering fluorescent lights and the tendency to get stuck on the sixth floor from 12:56pm to 1:02pm on Fridays. Following their 1941 realm-wide installation, during which Crowley made so many bad jokes about the machines that Hecate threatened to discorporate him on the spot, the high priestess spent her days fervently encouraging workers NOT to calling them “Hellevators.” Obviously this didn’t work, and now even she refers to the contraptions by their bastardized moniker, though she still holds a grudge against Crowley and blames him for inspiring Lucifer’s fascination with puns.


	11. A Very Angelic Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hecate meets a certain angelic bookshop proprietor in Soho, then participates in a long, dull and ultimately confrontational conference with Gabriel and three familiar archangels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Gabe and Sandy bully Zira a bit, but Hecate takes care of that

Hecate sighed, adjusted her vice-like grip on her black briefcase and stepped onto the de-escalator leading out of Hell and into the Mortal Realm (specifically, a shiny nondescript building in London’s Financial District). Lately (‘lately’ being the last 1,973 years or so) the high priestess hardly visited Earth, but constant surveillance footage and reliable updates on humanity’s progress via infernal agents and Crowley’s theatrical albeit informative and well-written reports, helped her navigate the 20th century with a fair amount of ease.

That, and she understood humans and their myriad customs, emotions, behaviors, fears and history well. One did not live amongst people for 700 years without learning a great deal about, even developing what one could call _compassion_ for, the poor creatures, who really never did much except try to survive and feel good in a cold, dark world against them from the start. Perhaps it also related to her being a Celestern: most angels and demons viewed humanity with either cold indifference or amused bafflement, whereas Nephilims really of any parentage but especially both angelic and demonic tended to commiserate with beings who, like themselves, were very misunderstood and walked a fine line between good and evil, never truly belonging in either camp.

When she had reached Earth, Hecate’s corporation (which was a slightly less pale and severe version of her normal self) emerged through a temporarily fluid version of the floor gracefully and, after double-checking no one had noticed her, strode out of the building, black heels clicking against the green marble ostentatiously.

 _Don’t know why we couldn’t do this in Purgatory,_ she thought bitterly, walking fast along the street and generally ignoring passers-by. _Why the bastard wants to meet in a_ book _shop, of all places! Well, at least it’s not Heaven_ , she admitted with a shudder, picturing the sterile, cold and insane-asylum white atmosphere and disconcerting smiles plastered on violently bright angels.

As a flurry of people crossing the street hid her from view, Hecate snapped quietly and surreptitiously vanished in the throng, only to emerge from another large group in front of A.Z. Fell & Co. Bookshop in SOHO. Hecate raised an eyebrow at the “Antiquarian and Unusual Books” advertisement written in gold on the side of the rich brown edifice, shrugged and climbed the few steps leading into the shop.

Immediately, her keen olfactory sense detected unfamiliar but very pleasing smells: parchment, paper, leather of course, but something warm and sweet, almost nauseatingly so……perhaps chocolate? No, too creamy for chocolate……mousse? Either way, Hecate inhaled deeply, savoring the intriguing aroma and admiring her eclectic surroundings. Books of all shapes, sizes, ages and genres had sometime previously invaded every available surface in the place and stacked precariously, almost as if to discourage customers from touching them lest they all come tumbling down. While this wasn’t somewhere in which the fastidiously neat high priestess would personally choose to work, she appreciated its aura of comfort, whimsy and mystery.

Certainly better than Heaven. And Hell had no bookshops (or what any sane mind would call bookshops) anyway, so who was she to judge?

Hecate looked around curiously and noticed she was alone in the fairly large but cramped space, save an anxious woman with short chestnut hair searching for something amongst the stacks and two gentlemen in tweed jackets discussing the current prime minister a few shelves over. Checking her watch (she never used her high-tech devices in the Mortal Realm before they premiered), Hecate saw it was 10:03am, three minutes after Gabriel said he and his cronies would meet her inside the shop.

Hecate frowned; he was always sickeningly punctual, and while she was certainly less than eager to see him, the sooner they started the quarterly Liaison review the sooner the blessed thing would end--

“Now, you just keep that in mind, and let us know if you have any questions, alright?” Gabriel’s pompous baritone filled the silence as he, Sandalphon and a very nervous-looking angel with white-blond hair emerged from a hidden room behind most of the shelves. Out of habit, Hecate grimaced and tried to make herself scarce, in this case by sliding behind the staircase a bit. Before she could note and correct this unhelpful survival instinct, the high-ranking angels continued speaking to the apprehensive one, whose back was to the high priestess.

“We don’t want another repeat of 1953, now do we?” Gabriel and Sandalphon laughed heartily. Hecate narrowed her eyes. The former had one hand on the white angel’s shoulder in a very patronizing manner, and Sandalphon was looking up into the young celestial being’s face with more menace than she’d seen on most demons.

The third angel chuckled weakly and replied in a precise tenor, “Of course not—won’t happen again, you have my word—”

“Good man! Good man,” praised the dark-haired archangel, clapping him rather hard on the back with the hand that had held his shoulder hostage and smiling beatifically. Sandalphon mirrored his partner and grinned as well, displaying his disgusting array of golden dental implants. Why the Heaven he chose to display his trademark gold in his mouth, Hecate hoped to never know—

Unfortunately, at that moment, Hecate leaned a bit too far forward and knocked over a few thick Victorian romance novels that landed much louder than they should. Gabriel and Sandalphon curiously peered over the third angel’s shoulders, which turned as he whipped around to face her. His bright round face was a bit annoyed until Gabriel exclaimed jovially, “Hecate! I didn’t know you were here!”, at which point it paled to ashen grey and his crystal blue eyes widened in sheer terror.

Hecate tried to plaster her customer service smile on her face, but it felt more like a grimace as she laughed weakly and said, “Yes, only just—sorry about that, didn’t mean to interrupt—”

“No, not at all! We’re all done here, right?” Gabriel looked sideways at and clapped a muscular arm around the third angel, who was still staring at Hecate’s face, his hands fidgeting horribly. Without waiting for a response, Gabriel released his prisoner and strode over to Hecate as she was picking up the books. “Please, allow me—”

“No really, Gabriel, it’s fine, just a few—” Despite Hecate’s protestations, Gabriel took the books out of her hands and stacked them neatly on the end table from which they’d fallen. “Thank you,” she muttered very reluctantly.

Gabriel just beamed at her. “Did you find the place okay?” he asked anxiously. “I know it’s very out-of-the-way, SOHO after all, Sandalphon and I just couldn’t postpone this conversation any longer—”

“—and since he’s always at work, we figured showing up here was our best bet,” explained short, stocky and bald Sandalphon in an oily tone, eyes glimmering with something you’d see in the Seventh circle as the third angel squirmed uncomfortably.

Gabriel laughed indulgently at his friend. “Yes, excellent idea Sandalphon, worked like a charm—Hecate, you probably haven’t met our man Aziraphale here, have you?” Gabriel rather roughly thumped Aziraphale on the shoulder again, which startled the white-haired angel out of his frightened reverie. He blinked rapidly, seem to realize he’d been staring in mortal fear at the high priestess and redirected his gaze immediately as a pink blush burst across his plump cheeks.

Hecate smiled sympathetically at Aziraphale and shook her head. “No, I don’t believe we have,” she replied kindly, extending her hand and willing her long fingernails to shorten and dull. “Pleased to meet you, Aziraphale. I’m Hecate, Infernal Liaison and executive officer to the Dark Lord.”

Aziraphale gulped, bowed low and nodded nervously as he shook her hand and glanced up into her emerald eyes. “Yes I-I’ve heard of you, of course—very pleased to meet you, Your Gr—uh, that is to say, um—” He froze, crystal blue eyes glancing in a panic.

“Just Hecate is fine,” the high priestess said firmly, determined not to look at Gabriel and Sandalphon’s smug expressions. “I don’t--you don’t have to—just Hecate, please,” she repeated seriously, watching the angel nervously. When Aziraphale frowned uncertainly, she added hastily, “O-or Sir, if you’d be more comfortable with that—” 

Aziraphale’s tense face relaxed into a relieved smile. “Oh thank you, Sir,” he exhaled, straightening up and clutching his heart as he released her hand. “I’m just a principality and not used to addressing—er, high-ranking, um—Hellish officials,” he finished diplomatically, his eyes now apprehensive instead of terrified.

Hecate shook her head and grinned her most genuine grin of the day. “I’m not that high-ranking,” she replied, “and I certainly wouldn’t call _principality_ a low-ranking celestial position!”

Aziraphale blushed, scoffed and waved aside the compliment with truer modesty than whatever Gabriel pantomimed after bragging about his latest celestial accomplishments. “Well, that’s very charitable of you—”

“Aziraphale here is our Earthly agent,” interrupted Gabriel, capturing Aziraphale around the shoulders again and grinning coldly. Hecate noticed Aziraphale immediately tense again when Gabriel began speaking; she herself winced when the archangel’s large hand squeezed Aziraphale’s forearm tightly, violet eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly at the principality. “Been here since the beginning, haven’t you buddy?”

Aziraphale nodded and smiled weakly without looking at anyone. Hecate had known Gabriel for almost 2,000 years and spent most of that time barely resisting an intense urge to murder him. That being said, the high priestess had never wanted to destroy the archangel more than at this very moment, in the most agonizing, gory and humiliating way possible.

However, like every other time she felt similar (albeit less compelling) homicidal desires, Hecate smiled sweetly and fixed Gabriel with a subtly threatening glare of her own. “Well, isn’t that something,” she began wryly, mentally reciting a spell ensuring Gabriel would soon find it impossible to manhandle Aziraphale and keep his hand attached to his wrist simultaneously. “Just the other day I was speaking to Crowley—our Earthly agent, as I’m sure Aziraphale has told you—” she grinned with genuine kindness at the principality, who at the mention of Crowley began fidgeting with his hands again “—about his work, and he divulged how cunning and powerful his angelic adversary is, how it’s nearly impossible for him to accomplish anything evil on Earth without Aziraphale thwarting his plans, sometimes rather spectacularly! Crowley didn’t mention you by name, of course,” she added to the principality as Gabriel said “Ow!” quietly, released him and frowned at his left hand. “Otherwise I would have immediately known you were the “infuriating Principality,” “nauseatingly _good_ Guardian of the Eastern Gate,” to use his words.” 

Sandalphon and Gabriel, whose hand had stopped smoking but was still unnaturally red and a bit charred, stared in disbelief and shock at the bright angel between them, who looked positively flummoxed.

Hecate wasn’t lying in the sense that Crowley had not indeed imparted this information, but she was in that the information was untrue in every sense of the word. Hecate sensed this as soon as Crowley started defending his recent poor job performance, but didn’t care enough to address the behavior and kind of wanted to see how far he’d take the lie, so she just let him keep talking about the “dreaded, many-eyed and-winged angelic monstrosity” interfering with his demonic schemes. Now having met Aziraphale, she could see why the lies had such a defined shape and hue, but still couldn’t resist screwing with Gabriel and Sandalphon. If the principality ended up feeling more confident, so be it.

“C-Crowley said that about m-me?” stammered Aziraphale incredulously. 

Hecate nodded and widened her eyes slightly. “Oh yes, he’s most frustrated with you. As is Hell in its entirety, come to that—and that’s quite an accomplishment, mind—"

Aziraphale blinked, then understanding (what exactly the understanding was Hecate would never know, but at least it dawned on him instead of the two dumbstruck oafs near him. “O-oh! Yes, well, that’s—all in a days’—well, rather six millennia—work, of course. I was just surprised at his—Crowley’s, that is—er, diplomatic references to me, as it were.” He laughed nervously. “Usually, they’re much more insulting—which is good, or rather, bad but in a good way—because he’s a demon,” the angel explained quite seriously to the high priestess of Hell, “and demons—demons do things like that….”

“Yes,” agreed Hecate kindly, ignoring the dim green shadow coalescing into something snake-like in her peripheral vision. “Quite. You must be very proud of your solder, Gabriel and Sandalphon.”

The latter certainly didn’t look proud, but muttered their ascent and congratulations while eyeing Aziraphale (whose startling blue eyes ping-ponged between the two archangels) suspiciously.

“Well! Anyway, seeing as it’s already—” Hecate checked her watch “—10:25, perhaps we’d better get on and start without the others.” _Unless of course you’d rather torture your employee some more,_ Hecate venomously added silently, _in which case I’d be more than happy to roast you two overgrown pigeons right now—_

“Oh yes, of course,” replied Gabriel, turning his attention back to the high priestess. “Sorry, we know you’re very busy—yes, let’s be off, I’ve reserved a private conference room in one of the buildings nearby, Michael and Uriel should be there—”

“Fantastic,” intoned Hecate dully, walking with the angels toward the exit. _We could have just met there then, you absolute buffoon—oh, but of course, then you wouldn’t have been able to bully Aziraphale in front of Hellish royalty._

“Are you alright, Hecate?” asked Gabriel softly when they reached the door, peering into her face. Sandalphon was watching her warily with one eyebrow raised; Hecate admired his honest displays of mistrust toward her.

Hecate closed took a deep breath and clenched her hands tightly, imagining they were encased in ice instead of potentially about to burst into flames and hurl fireballs at deserving celestial beings. She smiled placidly and replied calmly, “Yes, sorry. Just a bit of a headache.” The high priestess turned to Aziraphale. “Thank you for allowing us to meet in your wonderful bookshop—I’m truly sorry for taking up so much of your valuable time.” She shook Aziraphale’s hand again and bowed slightly, which seemed to shock the principality so much he could only stutter, “Y-yes, of course! Lovely to meet you, Your—er, Sir.”

Hecate’s smile increased in authenticity at the truth of his statement (or the lack of shapes and colors she perceived after his utterance of it, at least). 

“Always nice to see you again, Archangel Gabriel, and—Sandalphon,” Aziraphale added haltingly, eyeing the latter nervously. This of course caused purple and tan misshapen entities to enter Hecate’s line of sight, but at least the archangels, unblessed (or uncursed, depending on one’s perspective) with Truth, did not notice. They simply nodded with somewhat less bravado than they’d displayed prior to Hecate joining the conversation, then without a word of thanks to Aziraphale, Gabriel opened the door for the high priestess and gestured for her to exit first.

Hecate smiled, nodded once more at Aziraphale, who continued to stare at her with a mixture of shock, awe and gratitude on his round white face, and then exited the warmth of the bookshop, contenting herself with the fact that her use of Crowley’s outlandish tales had perhaps removed some of the sting from Aziraphale’s wounds.

66666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666

Despite not needing to sleep, Hecate stifled a yawn as Sandalphon continued his presentation on Heaven and Hell’s mutual success in convincing the US to withdraw from Vietnam three months prior.[1] She had spent the last five hours and forty-seven minutes (but who was counting, really?) under blinding fluorescent lights in an uncomfortable wooden chair discussing recent celestial/infernal conflicts resolved without smitings or burnings (excessive ones anyway), potential peace accords that would never make it past Hell’s legal department (comprised of humanity’s finest[2] lawyers, silver-tongued Professional Persuaders and of course the Devil’s Advocate[3]), ways in which to initiate Armageddon in 2000 (or Y2K, as the humans were now calling it) and of course the Divine Plan[4] itself, which clearly stated, “The Earth shall last for exactly 5,996 years and end in ice and blizzards, whereupon the respective denizens of Heaven and Hell will engage in the Final Battle for Universal Domination.” They always talked about the latter in minute detail, something Hecate detested but really couldn’t think of a good reason why they shouldn’t, so just tried not to roll her eyes while they re-reviewed the same information continuously.

Finally, it was two minutes to 4pm; a mere 120 seconds until she could hightail it out of that torture chamber and back to her comparatively comfortable office, where she could hopefully get some real work done before Lucifer finished his conference in the Ninth Circle—

Gabriel cleared his throat, interrupting Hecate’s pleasant reverie. She looked up from her watch and focused on the archangel with as much interest as she could muster. “Now, I know we try to wrap things up around 4—” he began.[5]

Hecate had been expecting this. “Sorry, can’t stay longer today,” she interjected, wincing apologetically. “I have an appointment at 4:10 sharp with the Prince of Wrath, I’m sure you can imagine what a nightmare it would be if I were late—"

“Yes, and we have that—that meeting with the—heads of state,” prompted Michael hastily, giving Gabriel a meaningful look that bordered on irritated. “We can’t be late for that—”

“No, you most certainly can _not_ ,” Hecate added emphatically. Normally the high priestess _lived_ to catch the archangels, particularly hypocritical Michael, lying, but felt solidarity was a better stance given their dangerous circumstances and chose to ignore the dancing yellow shadows materializing above them. Instead, Hecate inclined her head toward Michael and perfectly mirrored her determined and slightly desperate expression; in response, Michael flashed her a grateful smile, something Hecate didn’t believe the warrior angel capable of doing without severe injury.

Gabriel frowned in apparent naïve confusion at them. “What do you mean?” he asked mildly, cocking his head slightly at Michael. “We have nothing after this—and I thought you just said she was in Bermuda for the next two weeks,” he added to Hecate, whose insides froze and splintered into millions of tiny shards.

She gulped. “Yes, I did,” she admitted firmly with a nod, brain working overtime to fix her mistake. “I did indeed say that the Prince of Wrath was in Bermuda and unavailable for communication, because indeed she is--I, er, I _meant_ the Lord of—no, I already said he was in Canis Major, damn it—” She growled the last part under her breath. _Why do I tell them so much about our dignitaries?! I need new small talk topics—_

“Y-yes, I remember you mentioning a lord of some sort,” nodded Michael, glancing nervously at Gabriel’s suspicious face. “I-it was definitely something about a 4:15—”

“4:10—”

“Yes, 4:10, of course—anyway, a meeting today with a Hellish—”

“What are you two talking about?” Michael and Hecate glared at Uriel, watching them coolly from Hecate’s left, without abandon. “Neither you nor we have anything else today—I clarified with our and your secretaries—”

“Jared’s a compulsive liar,” Hecate blurted before thinking. “Doesn’t even know what the truth is anymore, poor dear—”

“Yes, and our new one is just as—” Michael began, then glanced at Gabriel’s confounded expression and sighed. “Oh, never mind. Please go on, Gabriel—what were you going to say?” She leaned back in her chair, folded her arms and re-donned her lofty expression.

 _Fucking quitter,_ Hecate hissed viciously in her head, then gave up as well. “Yes, sorry Archangel—please continue. _ApPaReNtLy_ —” she shot Uriel a glare that would have frightened any demon in hell out of their corporation but merely caused the junior archangel to blink disinterestedly “—we were mistaken, and have nothing to do for the rest of the day but listen to whatever concerns you possess. Please, do go on,” she prompted Gabriel when he hesitated, blinking rapidly and looking as though he were trying to calculate the square root of 13,267 mentally. He glanced down at Sandalphon on his right, who shrugged and shook his head with equal bemusement, then cleared his throat.

“Um, yes. Well, anyway, this won’t take long,” he assured Hecate, who watched the lavender smoke rise up behind him as he spoke. “Um, I really just wanted to address the—ah, the um—the Celestern issue, in um, Hell?”

Hecate blinked. “You mean the murders?” she asked, deadpan. “You want to discuss the brutal slayings of four Celesterns during our quarterly meeting?”

Gabriel fidgeted. “Well, not _discuss_ so much as—well, just extend our condolences, and—”

“Condolences accepted,” interrupted Hecate curtly, eyes flashing red for a moment. “Now, if that’s all—”

“Well, and ask how the investigation is going, of course,” added Gabriel hastily. Hecate noticed Sandalphon, Michael and Uriel watching her with interest now as well.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and stifled the Hellfire slowly flowing from her core to her hands. “The investigation. Yes, of course—well, no leads yet,” she lied, clenching the arms of her chair so tightly her nails scraped the wood. “Of course we’ve interrogated the Harvesti clan, which yielded nothing, but vampires are notoriously talented concealers of information—”

“So you still don’t know who may have hired them?” said Gabriel, frowning with concern.

Hecate rolled her eyes and sighed. “No. Again, thank you for helping Lord Beezlebub and I out last week, Gabriel—it was indeed above and beyond your duties as an archangel, but--”

“Well, not really,” interrupted Michael bluntly. “I mean, we have Celesterns working for us too—if they are in particular danger we should know about it—”

“As well as the method by which they are being destroyed,” added Sandalphon, raising a finger and his eyebrows.

Hecate rounded on him. “Oh yes,” she replied in a dangerously sweet voice. “I imagine Heaven would simply sell its _soul_ to know how exactly to permanently destroy a Celestern it could not control—”

“Now that’s going too far—” retorted Sandalphon sharply.

Hecate stood up, and he shrank considerably under her dark gaze. “Too far?” she repeated coldly. “No, ‘too far’ would be smiting insane Celesterns for over 5,000 years just because they were more powerful than you—”

“That’s purely—” Uriel started.

“—knowing doing so would only make them suffer more, instead of kill them!” the high priestess continued sharply. “Not to mention continuing the outdated, dangerous and incredibly _insulting_ practice of Conversions well after Queen Vega disproved their effectiveness in 1023 and we all outlawed them the following year!!”

Hecate laughed hollowly and shook her head. “No, I don’t think Hell is the one who has gone ‘too far’ in this case—in fact, to answer your question honestly, Archangel Gabriel,” she snapped at the shocked celestial being, wild fury clouding her better judgement, “we do have a lead, in the form of your oh-so-holy and perfect _Seraphim_!”

The angels gasped loudly, even unflappable Uriel, at Hecate’s accusation. Gabriel recovered first, but only to stammer, “Hey, w-wait!” as Hecate gathered her papers, snapped her fingers and vanished.

[1] When Heaven finally deigned to interfere after a “divinely predicted” number of people died, Hecate offered Hell’s support, hoping that by the US withdrawing troops the “blessed hippies would shut the fuck up.” No such luck, but the rise of yuppies in the 80s certainly cheered her up

[2] A word which here means “the most despicable, twisted and sleazy minds ever conceived from a fascination with how to get obviously guilty people off incredibly heinous criminal charges”

[3] On a rotating basis, basically whichever damned solicitor had won the most outrageous court case of the past decade (while alive or dead, on Earth or in Hell, it didn’t matter as long as they won after turning the trial into a veritable media circus)

[4] Hecate had no idea who or what wrote the Divine Plan, but knew with almost 100% certainty it wasn’t God—she’d never spoken with Her, but knew no Almighty being that would create a complex world just to watch Their petulant children demolish it millennia later for selfish pleasure. However, as one of those petulant children selfishly looking forward to kicking Heaven’s ass in a mere 27 years and ruling a universe without Gabriel in it, Hecate never voiced this opinion and took her angelic colleagues’ similar acquiescence to the Plan as a sign they felt likewise.

[5] If by “we” Gabriel meant everyone but himself, this statement was entirely accurate. The head archangel found really quite clever ways to extend their conferences as long as possible each quarter, such as ‘forgetting’ to mention crucial information or discuss a timely topic until 3:59pm. If each caucus didn’t end at 7:43pm with somehow just Gabriel and she walking back to the Main Entrance, Hecate would have admired Gabriel’s diabolic ingenuity more.


End file.
